Zamina

Hello.

2012-01-22T23:30:00.000-06:00

Hello, it's been forever. But I'd like to start posting again.

The highlights of today:

*Homemade chicken noodle soup
*The smell of freshly-cut wood at Menards
*Taking a nap on the couch

It finally feels like winter, with the temps in the teens and a light covering of snow, and fine ice crystals making the sidewalks slippery. Winter is good, but I need some wintry projects to keep me from hibernating under my down comforter all day:

To-do's this week:

*Take pictures with new Blackbird twin lens camera!
*Make granola and granola bars
*Find a good book to read (in between novels right now)
*Letters, thank-you notes, postcards, etc.
*Learn some more folk songs on guitar for E., who turned 3 last week!

Noble deeds and hot baths...

2011-01-12T23:05:00.002-06:00

Frost in the upstairs bathroom window.

So much for new year's resolutions. I haven't done anything on my daily and weekly to-do lists yet. I feel lots of resistance for some reason this year. Instead of cutting back on sugar, at the start of the new year I ate more than I did during Christmastime. Well, actually it's tapered off a bit--I haven't been eating much sugar lately, but it takes awhile to stop craving sweets. The week of Christmas I made a double batch of sugar cookies, and these amazing Czech cookies. Then, because I canceled our New Year's Eve party, I ended up eating the chocolate Lindt truffles and raspberry Ghirardelli squares I had bought for the party. Needless to say, I had a few monstrous headaches as a result. Now I'm back down to my few bits of dark chocolate per day (if that) and maybe some honey in my tea.

Speaking of tea, I've started doing a British-sort of tea time everyday, around 3 or 4. That's when I get a little peckish anyway, and it just seems like the right thing to do. What's cozier than a cup of tea and some crumpets slathered in homemade blueberry jam? Yes, I bought some actual crumpets at Kowalski's--they are much spongier and more moist than English muffins. I made some years ago too--they are pretty easy to make if I remember correctly...

But the British tea thing may also be due to my recent reading of I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith. I loved it. It's all about living in an ancient castle and the English countryside and quirky characters. Here are some of my favorite quotes:

Noble deeds and hot baths are the best cures for depression.

"Oh, what's the use of messing about with summer clothes, anyway," she said. "I can't imagine it ever being warm again."
"There's quite a bit of spring in the air to-night," I told her. "You go out and smell it."
Rose never gets emotional about the seasons so she took no notice, but Topaz went to the door at once and flung it open. Then she threw her head back, opened her arms wide and took a giant breath.
"It's only a whiff of spring, not whole lungs full," I said, but she was too rapt to listen. I quite expected her to plunge into the night, but after some more deep breathing she went upstairs to try on her tea-gown.
"It beats me," said Rose. "After all this time, I still don't know if she goes on that way because she really feels like it, if she's acting to impress us, or just acting to impress herself."
"All three," I said. "And as it helps her to enjoy life, I don't blame her."

We left our wraps in the hall--Topaz had lent us things to save us the shame of wearing our winter coats. There was a wonderful atmosphere of gentle age, a smell of flowers and beeswax, sweet yet faintly sour and musty; a smell that makes you feel very tender towards the past.

I watched the movie last night, which is streaming on Netflix, and I felt it was a very good adaptation. It's been a lovely diversion from all the news about the Tucson shooting (which stresses me out so much, I can't stop thinking or reading about it. My new cause is gun control.....).

Then tonight I made some chicken croquettes (which I've never made before! I always requested these for my birthday dinners when I was a kid):

I used the Joy of Cooking recipe, which was fun but slightly time-consuming as I had to make a Veloute' sauce to stir into the cooked chicken mixture. I had never made any sort of roux-sauce before so I felt very French, watching a huge pat of butter melting in the pan....

....which isn't good if you're suffering from a cold as I am now (dairy products = more snot).

Happy 1-1-11

2011-01-01T21:49:00.002-06:00

Happy New Year!

Shamrock plant in the window

Highlights of the day:

--hubby sick :(
--typed up some practice sheets for my music students
--made black bean soup, potato pancakes, and quinoa for supper
--cleaned up a wet spot little Elliot left on the couch
--blogging (and trying out new pictures on my banner)
--more writing (yet to do)
--stretching (yet to do)
--a teeny tiny bit of music practice (yet to do)

Very "Willa Cather/Bohemian/German/Pioneer woman to put red geraniums in window during the winter

Some fun goals for this year:

--ride a horse across (a small portion of) the Sandhills of Nebraska
--meet a new friend
--take a modern dance class
--start a singing club
--learn a little Czech (or French or Spanish or Italian or Latin or German....)
--learn "The Priest" by Joni Mitchell on guitar
--be able to do the splits at some point
--go vegan for (at least) 21 days
--take lots of pictures (film and digital; themed; ordinary)
--be able to sing spontaneous harmony
--research ancient history (biblical, Egyptian, Roman, etc...) and esoteric symbols
--gather a repertoire of polkas, waltzes, and cafe songs on accordion (play on street corner)
--swim with a dolphin (if not this year then someday....someday!)

It's Never Too Late to be Sassy

2010-11-13T17:03:00.001-06:00

For the last 12 hours or so I've developed a new obsession: finding back issues of Sassy magazine (which is proving to be quite futile, unless you want to spend about $20 for an issue on eBay).

It all started with looking up Kirsten Miller, my new favorite YA author (yes there is some jealousy involved...) and finding this blog she's writing based on her Kiki Strike books (which are about a group of urban grrl scouts called the Irregulars who spend their time exploring and defending the Shadow City: a series of mysterious underground rooms and tunnels underneath New York City). Anyway, from this blog, I found a post about Tavi Gevinson, a 14-year-old fashionista from Chicago who keeps this amazing blog, The Style Rookie. There was one particular post (or several, actually) about how she's obsessed with Sassy. That got me thinking about it, and wanting to look at back issues because I wasn't cool enough to read or subscribe to it when I was a teenager.

I'm feeling like I totally missed out! The more I read about it online, the more I find women of my generation who loved this magazine and say that it changed their lives.

I remember I had friends in elementary/jr. high school who subscribed to it, and I must have looked at a few issues and thought, this is way above my head. It's too cool for me. I don't get it. If I had been the person I am now I totally would have subscribed to it (not saying I'm cool now, but I get it). But unfortunately? I was a goody-two-shoes. I was first-chair flute in band. I wore Guess jean skirts with my pink oxford shirt tucked in when other girls wore shorts and tee-shirts to slumber parties. I listened to Debbie Gibson, NKOTB, showtunes, and classical music (meaning pre-20th century "classical" music). I subscribed to YM and Seventeen (but even I thought Teen magazine was too vanilla and twee). I read Nancy Drew. I never picked up Tiger Beat or hung up posters of boys on my walls (my walls were covered with ballerina and music-themed posters and paraphernalia). I loved (and wanted to be) Maria from The Sound of Music.

However, thinking back on things, maybe there was a glimmer of coolness in me. I'd sequester myself in my room (stenciled with mint-green bows across the top; a mauve homemade quilt on my bed; my pink boombox on my night stand--you know the kind I'm talking about--the ones that came in mint green, purple, and pink?) and dream up my own fashion designs, drawing them into my sketchbook (could I have been a Tavi had I grown up in a big city as opposed to a small town?). Also, mom used to let us watch MTV in elementary school, so I was hip on all the current music videos. I used to wear my mom's silk scarves around my ponytails and hoop earrings. I could play Mozart's Concerto for Two Pianos on our living room carpet (the Amadeus soundtrack played endlessly in my childhood). My grandma used to let me look at my aunt's Seventeen magazines from the 70s. I wrote tons of poems and short stories. I knew who Toulouse-Lautrec was (thanks to art-teacher mom). I was also the only girl with an asymmetrical haircut in high school.

Since I can't go back in time and listen to Sonic Youth on my record player at the height of their popularity or read copies of Sassy on my bed, I'm determined to discover what I missed out on. For some reason I need to know what my generation is about, from the point of view of Sassy. I want it to change my life. I want to be that hip kid in school wearing green tights, a purple mini skirt and plaid Doc Martens. I want to reacquaint myself with 80's and 90's indie rock (even in the 90's, in college, I wasn't listening to what my friends were listening to--i.e. Radiohead and Cake. I was listening to Joni Mitchell and Neil Young. Luckily my punk friend Margo made me a mixed tape entitled 'No more hippie shit for Chiffon').

If you or anyone you know have any back issues of Sassy, I would love to borrow or buy them from you. My childhood depends on it.

My Dream House (part 1)

2010-11-11T15:47:00.003-06:00

I was browsing through my favorite blogs just now when I came across this. Yes. That's my house.

That is, I wish it were my house, but it was Gabrielle Munter's house in Murnau, Germany, about an hour outside Munich. For a long time I had a picture of this house on my desktop. It made me so happy--the bright blue shutters against the white paint, the barn-style house overlooking a yard overflowing with flowers and trees.

I first saw this house in a book called "Artists' Houses" at a bookstore/art gallery in Spokane. In it, there are pictures of the interior of Gabrielle's house. Simple geometric stencils are stamped across the walls, and paintings of German and Scandinavian folk art and designs are hand-painted by Gabrielle and Kandinsky along the stairs and on furniture. I didn't buy the book but I kept going back to the bookstore to look at those pictures because I wanted my house to look like that.

Do you ever have past-life fantasies? I do. This is mine. It's been especially acute lately since reading Kirsten Miller's YA novel, The Eternal Ones. This is one of the first contemporary YA novels that I've read that I actually liked. The story is so fun, and I love how she's kept a blog where she makes up past-life scenarios for anyone who sends her a picture. But going back to my past life fantasy--for some reason I'm really drawn to Gabrielle Munter (1877-1962) and Paula Modersohn-Becker (1876-1907)--two German Expressionist painters. Maybe it's because they were born about 100 years before I was, or they are both from Germany (Paula grew up in Bremen, where I think my German cousins live. There is some mystery surrounding that part of the family...).

Composer Smorgasbord!

2010-09-29T21:16:00.001-05:00

Ug--September's getting away from me and I only have 3 or so blog posts to show for it. I was trying to be a better writer this month! Mostly I've been looking at other people's blogs, like this one.

Oh! But last Friday was amazing. Recently transplanted (from Spokane!) friend, T and I attended an American Composers Forum party at MacPhail Center for Music in Minneapolis. Can I just say, wow? We walk in, us two itty-bitty minor composers-to-be, and immediately we see our friend and mentor Elizabeth Alexander. Then, OMG Libby Larsen walks in. Poor Ms. Larsen--we bombard her right away, saying "hi! do you remember us? you came to our college in spokane?" And she just kind of stared at us and smiled (I'm sure our school was a distant memory to her--she travels extensively), and then someone else bombarded her....

Oh, but how I remember 3 years ago, how I walked around our campus with her (Larsen) and we were having a very cool conversation in the student lobby and she seemed genuinely interested in my projects. Sigh!

Then we walked upstairs to plates of gorgeous food and the most composers I've ever seen in one room. It was fun looking at name tags to see what other famous people were there (at least, famous to me). Stephen Paulus, Ann Millikan, Carol Barnett, Abbie Betinis (whom T had met a few weeks ago and introduced me to her---an amazing and prolific composer who's our age)....

I also had a great conversation with an old flute teacher of mine, Julie Johnson, who remembered me from about 10 years ago.

It never really hit me before how many amazing composers live here. And for the most part they all know each other in addition to knowing many music directors and musicians around town. I can't help but be immersed in this music culture here, with all the collective creative energy.

Book Scout

2010-09-15T23:47:00.000-05:00

I added another link--Book Scout

Lots of good middle-reader and YA book suggestions.

Just paint...(think later).

2010-09-09T00:01:00.000-05:00

I made these cinnamon rolls (with cream cheese frosting!) for the in-laws this past weekend. As I was rolling them out on Saturday night, around midnight, the power flicked off and I was left in the blackness. Because I'm a little afraid of the dark (haven't outgrown that one) I had to wake up K to go into the (scary) basement to grab the flashlight and candles.

Once the candles were lit, I finished my rolls and thought about electricity and how lovely it was to roll out cinnamon and mace-scented dough by candlelight instead of lightbulb.

Which reminded me of this from May Sarton's "Journal of a Solitude" (thanks for the recommendation, Jenna!):

"It is troubling how many people expect applause, recognition, when they have not even begun to learn an art or a craft. Instant success is the order of the day; 'I want it now!' I wonder whether this is not part of our corruption by machines. Machines do things very quickly and outside the natural rhythm of life, and we are indignant if a car doesn't start at the first try. So the few things that we still do, such as cooking, knitting, gardening, anything at all that cannot be hurried, have a very particular value."

I like this idea of the natural rhythm of life. On a related note, another quote from M.S.:

"I always forget how important the empty days are, how important it may be sometimes not to expect to produce anything, even a few lines in a journal. I am still pursued by a neurosis about work inherited from my father. A day where one has not pushed oneself to the limit seems a damaged damaging day, a sinful day. Not so! The most valuable thing we can do for the psyche, occasionally, is to let it rest, wander, live in the changing light of a room, not try to be or do anything whatever."

I love that---"Live in the changing light of a room."

Sometimes I get so plagued by not getting enough things done that I freeze to the spot and am not able to do anything at all. Like this standoff in my mind between the urge to make pretty domestic objects vs. making "art" (I can't say for sure that what I do is "art." It's more like--"activities that keep me entertained"). But I love this quote from another art/craft blog I found today:

"Just paint....(think later)."

"

Tiny Happy Obsessions

2010-08-30T23:02:00.000-05:00

Two more new blog obsessions:
Tiny Happy

and

Design Sponge

I'm trying to get interior decorating ideas, as well as ideas for craft projects, and these two blogs are amazing. This is how I've been spending my time! And I've been trying to spend less time on the computer after reading articles by Matt Richtel such as this one from the NY Times.

Crop Rotation

2010-08-25T00:00:00.001-05:00

Over the last 24 hours I've been obsessing over this blog:
Crafty kin

She's a mom from New Zealand and I love her photos and her crafts. Within the blog there are also links to other cute sites from down under.

The more I look at this blog, though, the more I get the itch to make something crafty and make my house all cute and cozy, filled with fabrics, pottery, and other vintage finds. I'm also dying to bake (haven't done it all summer due to the hot/humid/icky weather). Tonight I threw together some granola (came out a little too crisp--I'm out of practice!) and if tomorrow night is cool I want to bake some bread.

Her blog and homelife are so (seemingly) sweet and cute though that I feel like a totally inadaquate housewife/mommy. I haven't been making enough homemade toys or clothes for E., or planning and making enough meals, or sewing enough aprons, or embroidering enough tea towels. Instead my head has been in the clouds, involved in heady artistic pursuits like writing and composing and practicing piano. Why can't I be a normal domestic momma?

The trouble is, I have a limited amount of spare time and I feel I can only devote myself to one or two things, and (unfortunately?) the abstract, heady stuff wins (most of the time). I remember reading something Madeleine L'Engle wrote (from A Circle of Quiet? I can't remember) where she said her children cheered if she did dishes that day (because most of her time was spent, y'know, writing). Not that I'm comparing myself to her ( I looove her....!) but still....

....there is a tiny voice in my head that reminds me to attend to the details in my life. It's totally pathetic that I can't send a birthday card on time, or update photos on Shutterfly more regularly, or weed the garden more than once a month. I'm finally learning that stuff doesn't take long to do. I've actually been keeping a mental log of How Long Things Take (because I have Time-Awareness Disorder or something where I always misjudge how long it takes to accomplish a task). The average time it takes me to write a letter: 20 min. The average time it takes to put dishes away/do dishes: 30 minutes. Weed the garden: 15-30 min. Etc. In my mind, these tasks take at least an hour to do, and therefore I put them off.

I want to be an artistic genius (ha!) and a crafty momma. Can I do both?

I've decided to take Joni Mitchell's lead and do some crop rotation (she would spend a few weeks writing songs, then a few weeks painting). Sometime soon, maybe even next week (because I can't stand looking at that cute blog any longer without doing something about my own house) I'm going to spend a whole week focusing on crafty/domestic projects. I'm going to set up the sewing machine in the spare room and get to those curtains and pillows I've been dying to make. Also, I want to get a heads up on Christmas gifts. And if it kills me, I will plan a week's worth of meals and actually do some cooking (K's the cook in this house most of the time) and baking. Last of all I'm going to write some letters because I can no longer stand a mailbox full of junk mail everyday :(

After that week I will focus on more heady/abstract projects. I'm hoping that someday I'll have time to do both regularly.

Now here's a totally pointless photo of a cup of tea I had today (actually it was taken weeks ago, but I did have some tea in this cute cup):

The sea is a long, long way....from me (Low lyrics)

2010-08-19T23:13:00.003-05:00

I'm in my ocean mood again.

We got spoiled living out west. Once or twice a year for five or six years in a row we'd drive to Portland Oregon, stay overnight at a hostel or cute hotel, and then drive to the coast the next day. We'd spend a few days there in our favorite B & B, which was a very luxurious place with rooms and porches overlooking the ocean. I loved waking up and falling asleep to the sound of the ocean, and walking along the beach, taking pictures of the patterns in the sand and of interesting wind or water-blown compositions of seaweed and bits of shells. There wasn't much to do in this town other than look out at the ocean from our room or walk around the musty bookstore next door, filled floor-to-ceiling with out-of-print dusty books and cardboard boxes for the 3 or so cats padding around the store. Sometimes we'd drive down to Newport to visit the aquarium or walk along Nye beach or listen to the sea lions bark on the docks in the bay.

On our very first trip to the Pacific coast in 2002 I didn't like the ocean much. Compared with Lake Superior, which I loved, it was loud, wild, rocky, and smelled fishy. It was always draped in fog and very windy. I was also scared of it. There were warning signs all around about possible tsunamis and getting swept away by the tide. There were tide pools full of strange and gelatinous creatures with slimy green arms and spiny backs. You couldn't really hang out on the beach for too long--not only was it too windy to have a sustained conversation but it was chilly and damp.

But after spending a few days and then returning year after year, the ocean got into my blood and now, being so landlocked, I miss it more than ever. We got our fill of an ocean-like lake a couple weeks ago when we escaped the heat and drove to Duluth. It was about 15 degrees cooler there and overcast, and yes--there was fog. We brought a picnic lunch and some of E's toys to the beach and hung out there for the afternoon. The day before, while I was trying to find a vintage bread box at my favorite antique store, I found a neat 1955 edition copy of Anne Morrow Lindbergh's Gift from the Sea. I had heard about this book but never read it before, so I brought it with me to the beach.

It was the perfect beach read for that gray day. It's a short book so I almost read the whole thing. Mostly it's about solitude, and how solitude is necessary at times: "If one is out of touch with oneself, then one cannot touch others...Only when one is connected to one's own core is one connected to others, I am beginning to discover. And, for me, the core, the inner spring, can best be refound through solitude." And this: "I walked far down the beach, soothed by the rhythm of the waves, the sun on my bare back and legs, the wind and mist from the spray on my hair. Into the waves and out like a sandpiper. And then home, drenched, drugged, reeling, full to the brim with my day alone; full like the moon before the night has taken a single nibble of it; full as a cup poured up to the lip..." (A.M.L.)

After that day I wanted to read more books like this. If I couldn't go to the ocean this year, I would read about it instead. There's always my copy of "The Edge of the Sea," by Rachel Carson, found at Powell's bookstore a couple years ago (I love her...). I also recently came across a series of short memoirs by Joan Anderson. I'm currently reading "A Year by the Sea" in which she decides to spend a year at her beach cottage on Cape Cod rather than move with her husband to a new city. The other book, which is a sort of follow-up to this memoir is, "A Walk on the Beach," which is all about her chance meeting on the beach with Joan Erikson, who was the wife and collaboraor of the social scientist/psychologist Erik Erikson. I had never heard of her before, but she was a really interesting person. In the 20s she went to Europe to study modern dance with Isadora Duncan. Then later I think she got a master's degree in sociology and wrote books, including "The Universal Bead," and "The Wisdom of the Senses" (both supposedly at the downtown library, but the Wisdom one was missing!). Anyway, the book is full of conversations between Anderson and Erikson (who was 91 years old at the time and still active).

In the prologue, Anderson distilled the essence of Erikson's philosophy:
"Welcome each day like a good meal."

"The essence of a life well-digested comes from knowing your strengths, overdosing on the senses, and remaining active and playful."

"Keep your hands on the plow--push--don't ever stop pushing."

"Always be willing to give a little more energy--the tension should always be there--then your life will never go limp."

And here are some of my favorite quotes from the book:
Joan Erikson:
"Learn any skill that opens up the world and sets you free."

"The important thing is to do something, even if it's as simple as making a pile of pebbles. For it is always the doing that leads to the becoming, and before you know it you're on to the next stage of life."

"Either people pay no attention to their clothing and risk being misunderstood or they pay too much and risk being disingenuous. I'm not suggesting that you need a facade. It's just that a total stranger needs to get it the minute you walk over his or her threshold. Your work, your intentions, your goals all become evident when the total package is just right.... You want your individuality to shine....I adopted my look at Harvard right after attending my first faculty wives meeting. There I was in a roomful of women dressed in tweed suits with bouffant hairdos, and I was in shock. Where was the individuality? Would I be expected to conform as well? I walked away from that experience saying no way, not me, and headed straight for a store which sold exotic and colorful clothes from India, buying several pairs of leotards to wear under unusual jackets and smocks."

I'm so glad I came across these books. My appetite for the sea, however, remains to be satisfied. I'm thinking of painting my dining room wall a sea-glass green to go along with my collection of starfish and shells (found not at the beach but bought in a plastic bag at a thrift store in Spokane).

Of (music theory) freaks and geeks

2010-08-05T18:23:00.000-05:00

I wonder how much time I spend changing the colors and templates....
If I could do the same thing with paint colors in my house, I would.

I love this background. It's so Napoleon Dynamite or Freaks and Geeks (which K and I have been watching through Netflix lately). There's something about school drama-type shows that I love. Maybe it's because there are so many great opportunities for interesting characters and awkward teenager-type situations. Maybe that's why I read so many YA novels too. And write about YA stuff. Maybe I haven't really grown up yet....

On a different note: music. I spent some time today working through a passage of Debussy's Reflets dans l'eau (reflections dance on the water). There are so many reasons why I love this piece and why I love Debussy in general--especially his Preludes and Images for piano. He does these really interesting gestures and patterns involving minor 3rd relations and quartal harmonies. Each measure seems to have a deeper meaning: some secret of the universe embedded in melodic and chordal patterns. I really do think he was literally painting with music (he said that he was more of a painter than a musician, or would rather have been a painter but became a composer instead). Sometimes it helps me to think beyond (impressionist) music theory and look only at the pattern of black and white keys, or at the curve of a melodic line or gesture. It's hard to explain. It makes my head spin (with pleasure) just thinking about it (yeah, I'm a total nerd).

What's difficult about this piece are all the fast runs and arpeggios all over the keyboard. They aren't hard to play at a slow tempo once you know the pattern, but I imagine getting them up to speed will be pretty tough, especially with my intermediate-level technique. But if I ever do get them (which I consider to be more flowing, water-like gestures than precise, tempo-perfect runs) I think my technique will improve greatly. Definitely more fun than working on Czerny exercises.

Here's what I was working on:

Today I looked at the middle system--the notes that are way up in the stratosphere of the treble clef. Not so easy to read, although through playing flute I can tell right away what the notes are.

But in order to practice it, I re-wrote the passage down a few octaves so I could read the pattern easier:

Sorry--the picture quality isn't great. I added fingerings and also colored boxes around important notes in the pattern--notes that would help me remember variations in the pattern.

Suddenly, the pattern made more sense and I could actually play it at a slow tempo.

What's so cool about this pattern is that the middle notes stay pretty much the same in a set (in this re-written example, system-to-system) while the first note and the colored-box notes change, going down chromatically from F (F, F-flat, E-flat, D).

I think I could spend the rest of my life studying Debussy and still learn new things about his compositional technique.

Here's some more of my composition sketch from the other day. I added more to it, and was thinking that when/if I finish the piece I could show the process from beginning to end (notated and recorded).

Again, yucky picture quality.

Everyday "Art" (does your grandma put everything in quotes too?)

2010-08-03T23:55:00.001-05:00

I love the idea of everyday art. Nothing too fancy or finished, and nothing that takes too long. I'm getting all these great ideas from looking at artist blogs where they post their sketchbook pages or craft projects in the works (like my friend Klay).

But it got me thinking. There are tons of artist blogs out there by women (visual art or crafts) but little to no music or composition blogs by women. If there are some out there, could you send me a link? I know there are women composers out there, but where are their sketchbooks? Where are their improvisation or sound art samples? Then I thought that maybe I could get the ball rolling. I'll post some of my sketches, and hopefully later add actual sound files (maybe on a myspace page?). Bear in mind these are only everyday sketchbook music ideas--not finished compositions. I'm following the lead on these artist blogs by showing what I've been working on, which will hopefully get me creating something everyday (even if it has little or no artistic value). It's everyday, run-of-the-mill, laundry and scuffed-up jeans kind of art. Actually, I don't know if it's even art, but it's something that didn't exist yesterday. And the point is to get me working every day. Also, it's kind of like show and tell for music geeks.

I'm also trying to think of ways to adapt some of Keri Smith's ideas for music and sound (I love her book How to be an Explorer of the World: the Portable Life/Art Museum).

So, tonight I made a music sketch. It only took me 20 minutes or so (a self-imposed rule for everyday art, and because I've got a toddler: each session can only take between 15 and 60 minutes--for naptime and bedtime). I'm not showing the whole sketch because....well, I haven't decided if I want to show whole sketches or not....

It took up about a half page of staff paper, and was numbered 1-3 for different motifs. It's based on a magic scale (a scale based on a typical major or minor scale, where the root and fifth stay unchanged, but any other note in the scale can be altered). The pitches I used were: F, G-flat, A-flat, B-flat, C, D-flat, E/E-flat. So, similar to a D-flat major/B-flat minor scale but starting on F (I guess that makes it F phrygian. I love flat 2's).

The magic scale idea comes from W.A. Mathieu's The Listening Book, which is a book everyone should read, musician or not.

Anti-climactic, isn't it? Hopefully, after I sketch a few more, I'll record and post them. For fun. Also, to inspire other women musicians to do the same?

33 Going on 14

2010-07-26T22:32:00.000-05:00

I just spent an amazing weekend at a friend's parents' house for her bachelorette party. They live on a lake and have beautiful, sprawling grounds with a deck, patio tables, huge firepit, and sandy beach. The weather was perfect--warm, dry, breezy, and blue-skied. Surprisingly, there were very few mosquitoes out, and it was a full-moon night.

Not only was it fun because of all the pontoonin', swimmin', and grillin' involved, but I felt like I was 14 again, just hanging out with friends and having a slumber party. We set up tents close to the water and ate a chocolate-raspberry ice-cream pie and gooey store-bought cupcakes by the fire. My bachelorette friend A and other friend C made a late-night cigarette run, and when A's mom asked where she was, we lied and said they ran to the store to buy more tonic water. We're all over 30, for chrissakes--why did we lie to her mom about buying cigarettes?

Then, just as all of us ladies were about to fall asleep, A and S proposed a late-night pontoon ride (2am-ish) and swim. I hadn't jumped in the lake all day because it had been breezy, but the evening was still and warm, with the full moon blazing over the water. We were the only ones out on the water so the lights stayed off. Only 3 out of 7 of us jumped in, and I'm glad I did. It felt like some sort of ancient pagan pre-wedding ritual, with the moonlight blue on our skins.

Earlier in the day, we stopped to "borrow" someone's lake trampoline, which felt very rebellious.

When we got back around 2:30am, A. grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a few of us retreated to a tent to read tarot cards and talk about relationship stuff (a very teenagery-thing to do, but which I never did as a teen because none of my friends did tarot and I didn't drink till I was in college, so I was catching up, in a way).

We fell asleep around 4:30 am.

The next morning and early afternoon we boated and swam some more, and layed out on our beach towels with a few bags of chips. It reminded me of hanging out with my cousin during the summer, where we'd sit on her porch after a day at the pool, and binge on Twix bars. I loved the laziness of it, and the guilt-free indulgence of non-stop junk food. A and S were singing Aerosmith songs, and later, on the ride home with A, I noticed she had a small collection of CDs in sleeves on the sun visors. For some reason it was so refreshing not to listen to music on an iPod, to hear the soft click of the CD being sucked into the stereo.

It's just what my soul needed. But I'm afraid I'm going to need this every weekend for the rest of the summer....

Anyone need a house-sitter for your lake-front home?

Fun with Templates!

2010-07-16T20:04:00.000-05:00

Changed the look again, just for fun. I'll probably change it again in a few weeks.

Oh, by the way, I'm still here. I haven't posted lately because I feel like I have to post a picture to keep my readers interested, but most of the time I'm too lazy to add a picture, so I don't post at all.

Here's a picture, just for fun:

A butterfly on a license plate. Taken months ago, probably around Easter.

This reminds me of last Monday, when we went over to a friend's apartment for dinner. She's a composer friend of mine from Spokane, who moved here to take advantage of all the wonderful cultural opportunities the cities have to offer. Anyway, there was a period of time after dinner when her three elementary-school-aged kids were showing us all their creative skills and hobbies. Little girl W was showing us her fairy book and stuffed animals and how she can change a baby's diaper (she changed E's diaper and did a very good job). She also drew a picture of E. using a peach colored pencil. Then, eleven-year-old boy T showed us his miniature skateboards, trucks and cars (mostly for E's benefit), and also his dead insect collection (very impressive: butterflies, wasps, beetles) and his living frog/snail collection. Then he entertained us with some free-improv on the accordion, and then showed us some tricks his robot dog could do, all the while wearing Star-trek-like 80s glasses. While this was going on, 12-yr-old boy C played some Philip Glass etudes on the antique upright piano (and then later from the organ in his bedroom). Then dad W played some Hotel California and misc. Led Zepplin on the classical guitar.

Have you ever heard of a more creative family? I love it. BTW, these kiddos are homeschooled, so I wonder if that has anything to do with their unbridled imaginations. There was no TV or computer in sight (maybe hidden away when the necessity arises?), but an abundance of instruments, books, and toys.

But that's not to say schooled children are any less creative (deep down). I think the lack of creativity/energy in many kids has to do with the amounts of TV watched, video-games played, and sugar consumed. Also, the lack of unstructured (outdoor!) playtime due to excessive homework/busywork and scheduled activities (including piano lessons, sports practice, etc).

I'm thinking about all these things because in a few years E will be ready for preschool/kindergarten. We'll try school, because we might find a good one that he likes, with a fabulous teacher. But he also might do better in a non-school learning atmosphere. We'll see.

Books--amazing old and out-of-print books from the South St. Paul library. See my post at my other blog:
http://rescuedfromobscurity.blogspot.com

What if I.....

2010-03-28T22:32:00.000-05:00

Starting tomorrow (or sometime in the near future), what if I:

--became vegan?
--joined the Unitarian Univeralist church (or became part of something else uplifting/enlightened)?
--moved to the country (or at least spent time in nature everyday)?
--practiced yoga everyday (exercised and meditated too)?
--wrote everyday?
--stopped playing classical music for 2 years (or any other written music--and focused instead on aural folk music)?
--used the internet just once a week (including checking email)?
--cooked more, baked more, gardened more, crafted more?
--got to know more neighbors?
--got out of the house more?
--joined a homeschooling group (I know, E's too young, but it's something I'll have to think about sooner or later.

I'm feeling like I need radical change for the better. If I did all these things, would I feel different? More connected? I think social media only enhances my feelings of loneliness--it's a poor substitute for real contact.

If I ate better, would my body feel lighter/younger/cleaner? Would I lessen my chances of contracting major diseases? It's just a little upsetting to hear of more young people (and old people, for that matter) getting cancer and having strokes.

If I did more things rather than thought about them, would my brain change? I've been reading that if you practice something daily (writing, meditation, music, crafting, gardening, etc.) it literally changes the structure of your brain. I like the idea of a daily practice.

Just wanting to feel different. Just wanting the world to look a little different.

Lemon Cake and Tulips, Among Other Things

2010-03-17T23:43:00.000-05:00

Happy Spring!

Or anyway, it feels like Spring. Last Sunday, the 14th, was the first sunny and warm day in what feels like years. And daylight-savings-time made the day feel even more happy and bright.

Mom was in town, and we all went for an afternoon walk. El. wore his little camo shades, which made him look like a Muppet--a cute sleepy Muppet, and I snapped some pictures of the park, trees, and sky (I'll share later). Then mom and I drove to Minneapolis, to Birchbark books to take part in a bookclub meeting/dinner hosted by Louise Erdrich. It was lovely and surreal to be in her presence (she's taller than I expected--very monumental). She was very gracious and friendly, introducing herself to every table and leading a great discussion of William Trevor's Love and Summer.
The cafe served corned beef, cabbage, red potatoes, potato leek soup, savory herb scones, and mint ice-cream atop a brownie. It was a nice way to end the day.

This is a picture of a cake I made for mom's birthday last Wednesday. It was a Martha Stewart recipe for Lemon cake, with lemon curd filling (Joy of Cooking) and stabilized whipped cream frosting with candied lemons and pineapple flowers on top. It turned out really good and dense--not fluffy like a box mix, but really hardy--almost like a pound cake. Amazingly, the layers turned out even--a first for me. The powdered stabilizer, however, that I found in a packet at Lund's, didn't fully dissolve into the frosting, so there were little bits suspended in it. I smoothed it out through a strainer, which solved the problem. This same thing happened when I tried to use gelatin to stabilize the whipped cream. Has anyone had success with this method?

Brother H. sent the flowers--an arrangement of pink and white tulips and some long, magenta orchid-looking flowers. For once I had fresh flowers in the house, which looked so colorful next to the shamrock plant I had bought the day before.

Last Thursday mom and I went to see My Antonia at the Illusion Theater. Other than driving around forever trying to find the darn place (it was on the 8th floor of a historic-looking building) the evening was...wistful. What is it about this novel that I identify so much with? Maybe because it's such a Nebraska story, or that Antonia could have been my great-great-great grandmother, or that the characters share such small yet beautiful moments that stay in your psyche---whatever it is, I couldn't help but weep towards the end when Jim returns to Nebraska to see Antonia for the first time in 20 years.

I felt like the play was well-written, but I couldn't help but wonder why try to tackle this huge, sweeping novel in a period of an hour-and-a-half? Why not write something original that captures the spirit of the book rather than the book itself? Anyway, it was successful, I think--with a minimal set with projections of the prairie (of course) and movable wooden set pieces. I loved the original music. There was a little trio off to the side, and I absolutely loved the woman who played violin and guitar, and then came on stage to play a minor role in her twirly blonde curls and long denim skirt. I thought she was just dressed like that for the spirit of the play--I had no idea she was a character--and I felt like I wanted to be like her.....some sort of urban cowgirl folk musician with blonde curls.....

This last week was really nice--time spent with mom--and some sunny warm days.

Mmmm....Girl Scout Cookies....

2010-03-03T23:44:00.001-06:00

Wow, I was really productive today.

I fixed dinner: bulgur and tomatoes, sauteed kale with garlic, steamed yams. Then I swept and mopped the kitchen floor, swept the living room floor, cleaned the upstairs bathroom, put dishes away, and made vegan oatmeal cranberry cookies (does this make it sound like I'm a health nut? I guess I forgot to mention the half-dozen Girl Scout cookies I had for dessert).

And now I'm writing. The day is complete. Although I don't feel ready for bed yet, with all the sugar flowing through my veins. I was thinking earlier---I don't want to see Girl Scout cookies go away, but don't you think it's about time the G. Scouts made their own damn cookies? Have you ever looked at the ingredients on a box of Samoas, or Do-Si-Dos? All I can say is trans fats. Maybe it's okay since they only come out once a year, but I'd kinda like to see the G.S. doing away with this cookie-selling image they have. I mean, is that all they do other than stay at cabins and ride horses? Do they even go camping and learn how to build a fire, pitch a tent, and make a hobo dinner with tin-foil like the Boy Scouts do? What do the B.S. have to sell? Why can't they sell cookies too? I always wanted to be a G.S. but do they do anything cool anymore? I have a Girl Scout book from the 20s, and it looks like not only did they learn the domestic arts, but they also learned Semaphore, Morse Code, wild food foraging, tying bandages for different parts of the body, mountain climbing, orienteering, map-making, and tying knots. Those are the skills I wish I had. I wonder if there is a club for adults who want to be G.S.?

Oh yeah, going back to why I was so productive this evening---I'm hosting a mommy meetup tomorrow, so the house has got to look decent. And I wanted to impress them with homemade cookies. Tomorrow morning I'll make scones to add to the snack table. What is it about scones that are so welcoming? Sometimes I think it would be neat to run a B&B, but really, the only part of it I would truly enjoy is the baking for my guests. I'd make kolaches, Swedish tea rings, Icelandic coffee wreaths, butterhorn rolls, and of course scones--candied ginger scones, currant cream scones, oatmeal anise scones....with cute little butter pats in the shape of animals alongside them on a china plate.

Sunny book club meeting turns blue

2010-02-21T22:34:00.000-06:00

I spent a lovely afternoon with my book club friends, discussing The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon over coffee, quiche, shortbread (made by me--my first time ever), and delicious gluten-free lemon lavender cookies. We sat around a rectangular table in a sunny yellow dining room that had exposed wood moldings and a built-in buffet with a mirror. I love turn-of-the-century homes---wood floors, built-in-bookcases, and leaded windows. B's baby boy made cute gurgly yummy noises with each bite of sweet potato and rice cereal. Conversation lasted about three hours, and as usual I probably gabbed too much because I was high on caffeine (and also woefully short on adult conversation these days). The day was warm and sunny and felt almost spring-like. By our next book club meeting, it will be spring.

As usual, we talked about the book for maybe 20 minutes and then lapsed into a deep and somewhat depressing conversation about the state of our low-paying, unsatisfying jobs with little-to-no maternity/paternity leave or other health and family benefits. The burden of student loans came up too---loans for educations that didn't get us where we wanted to go, due to poor academic advising, or non-existent preparation for making it as a humanities major (practical skills like how to write a grant or market your work, etc).

It all made me wonder, why does it have to be this way? Why do we put up with incompetent managers, low wages, lack of decent benefits, and 50 hour or more work-weeks? Because I've been mostly self-employed for the last ten years, I'm not sure I could make it in a typical office-type job. I know I can't make it in retail or food service (been there, done that). I'm also realizing that the career I thought I wanted and trained for in college (school teacher--art education) I really don't want. There's lots of reasons for this, but mostly school culture scares me (there is such a dysfunctional relationship between parents, teachers, students, school staff, school board, and physical school environment that I couldn't possibly see how any school reform would work other than closing down all the schools and starting from scratch from a completely new model) and I'm very much an introvert who works better with people one-on-one (why I enjoy teaching private music lessons).

What if more people were self-employed? Started their own businesses? The reason why my friends stay in their jobs is because it offers stability: a constant paycheck. There's a lot to be said for stability and security (I wish I had more of it myself). But to see so many broken people who aren't using their talents to the fullest (myself included) or who have lost a sense of vocation (me too) is truly disheartening.

What's the answer? I don't know, but in my own life I'm trying to live by the wisdom of "Don't buy things you don't need with money you don't have." It's really hard. But I find that when I sleep on it, I don't go back and buy it the next day.

Also, if we could figure out how to live in villages again (I now know what it means when they said it takes a village to raise a child. I'm also beginning to believe that stay-at-home-alone-with-your-fussy-toddler-motherdom is as unnatural as putting your child in daycare for 40 hours a week. But that's another topic for another day...). If we lived in villages (okay let's call it what it is: a commune) and worked, played, cooked, raised children, etc. together on a small acreage somewhere--I think this would solve a lot of social ills. Yeah, there are lots of problems to living on a commune too, but if you lived by people you actually liked, then it would be fun (I think) and would eliminate the crappy-job syndrome/maternity leave problem that is plaguing many of my Gen X friends.

But today's book club meeting was truly lovely. Time spent with friends over coffee is a too-rare occurrence in my life.

Little Domesticities

2010-02-20T00:11:00.000-06:00

I'm so excited about this new blog header picture. The fabric is a toaster cover my Grandma B. from Nebraska made who knows how long ago (the 60's?). Notice the scalloped machine edging. Did this brightly-colored fabric come from a fabulous shift dress? I hope so. The white cow is a little creamer I bought in Portland OR, one of my favorite cities. I love it when people come to stay because I have an excuse to use the little creamer. I take immense pleasure in filling it up with half-n-half and watching the white liquid pour out of its mouth into a steaming cup of coffee.

Spring

2010-02-19T15:15:00.000-06:00

Yeah, I changed my template again. I was hoping for a more spring-like color. Spring can't come soon enough.

Remembering Eugene

2010-02-10T23:52:00.000-06:00

Lately I've been thinking about Eugene, Oregon. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's part of some 7-year cycle. Maybe it has something to do with the non-stop snow and cold here, and I'm remembering 40-degree, rainy winters (which aren't much better. At least here it's sunny some days).

I feel like while I was there I didn't fully appreciate the place. We were poor. K was going to grad school, I was working at this coffee shop with horrible young managers who made me feel like I was an incompetent 10-year-old who had no idea how to slice oranges or put together a tuna melt sandwich. I was also a nanny for a family where both parents were doctors. I loved the kids, who were in 2nd and 3rd grade at the time, and the parents were very nice, but I always felt a little out of my element, working for the rich people who lived on the hill. They paid me well and were very kind to me, but I couldn't help but feel like some sort of servant when K and I were hired to rake the leaves from their expansive lawn (when their children were perfectly capable of helping out).

Or maybe being poor wasn't the issue. A lot of it had to do with the fact we had just moved far away from close friends and family, and we didn't know a soul in Oregon, other than my cousin and her husband who lived in Portland. It was hard leaving my two fun jobs in the cities--teaching music at a studio and working at a coffee shop, where I met some friends I still have to this day. We'd spend our shift working the NY Times crossword puzzle or debating educational issues while drinking the unlimited coffee that was allowed us during our shifts. The customers in the morning tended to be middle-aged professionals who tipped well and ordered the same things everyday, making our lives easy. I still remember the triple-shot espresso with whipped cream guy, who always wore a red plaid flannel shirt and had major bags under his eyes, and the nice-looking woman who always ordered a chocolate croissant. I got to see the sunrise on my walk there, and leave with at least $20 in tips for the day. Contrast that with the yucky coffee shop in Eugene, which was very corporate and forced its employees to memorize every single drink on the menu which was more extensive than the typical latte, cappuccino, espresso fare. This company had invented variations upon variations of drinks that involved different types of syrups, milks, temperatures, shots, and garnishes. Come on. I refused to memorize it and jumped at the chance to work in the back preparing sandwiches and salads.

But looking back, it's not the lack of money or crappy jobs we had that stands out. What I remember is seeing the Pacific Ocean for the first time---how it was enormous and gray and fishy-smelling and windy and cold and rocky and totally overwhelming and beautiful. We walked along the beach and took photos of the sky reflected in pockets of water that lay in zebra patterns across the sand. The ocean was silver, and the sun a pale yellow among gray-purple clouds. Watching the mist roll in, and seals popping their heads out of the water, their eyes large and doe-like, sniffing the air like dogs and then somersaulting back underneath the waves. We would visit the ocean as much as possible because we knew we'd move away from it someday.

What I also loved about Eugene was the abundance of cheap, organic produce; the huge Saturday market which was an explosion of food, herbs, crafts, dreads, and drum circles; the beautiful big library they built while we were living there (I remember being amazed at the book drop, which was an automated electric belt that ate your books when you fed it); and the people we met while we were there. They were all students at the U and from somewhere else, but they were really good people. We sang karaoke in our friend's parent's basement, and I'll never forget K and our friend D singing Rawhide, or friend J writhing on the floor with the mic and screaching the National Anthem. Or the vegetarian cookouts with the singing and playing of guitars, and my friend's collection of Felix the Cat trinkets. The most amazing cup of espresso I've ever had was at a bakery in Eugene. The place looked old-fashioned with its white subway tiles and schoolhouse lights. I went there only once, and it was with another good friend. We sat there and talked in the sunlight on a Sunday morning and nibbled on danishes and sipped our whole-milk lattes.

We also had the best kitchen we've ever had. We lived on the top floor of a duplex with cute sloping ceilings and a view of a butte (the name escapes me--Spencer's butte or something). Our kitchen was huge and white, with abundant counter and storage space, and a large window looking out into the back yard where we watched high school kids smoke in the alley. We slept in the closet of the bedroom, which was shaped like a tent and was big enough for our queen-sized bed. Someone had painted the walls sapphire blue and mold grew on the ceiling, but we had a little square window above our bed to let the breeze in while we slept.

It was in Eugene that I started writing more, and going to different coffee shops to do it--places next to the U where I could be anonymous among the many students--and also close to the U's bookstore which sold tons of notebooks and pens.

It was in Eugene that I had the best flute teacher I've ever had--a doctoral student who was close to my age and wore colorful, flowy hippie shirts, had ridiculously long blond hair, laughed and snorted a lot, and was the best pool player I've ever seen. I can still see her, flying through the fastest scale I've ever heard, in her living room draped with Indian bedspreads and shelves full of music books.

I guess I could go on and on. As I write, I think about more things I enjoyed about Eugene (the green hills, the bright pink rhododendrons, the train ride we took to Portland for a day, the mossy dank forests, the hot springs we drove to, the amazing church I attended that had a water fountain and a large picture window behind the altar looking out onto a field of trees and hills, the late-night vegan bakery, the amazing bike lanes, etc....).

Maybe I'm thinking about Eugene because I don't want my adventures to be over. Now that we've come full circle and are back in MN again, I'm feeling settled for once in my life. Which is what we've been wanting for awhile--a place to put down roots. But it's scary too. Will we have a new place to look forward to again? A new place to explore? New friends to meet? Do these things get less important as you get older?

2009: A Summary

2010-01-01T23:43:00.004-06:00

January 14: Elliot was born.

April: We moved back to Minnesota (driving in our car with a baby and a dog).

June/July: Went to see a dear friend who was dying of cancer--age 32; then went to her funeral.

August: Moved into our new house.

September: Hear news that my father-in-law has TB, and that we all have to get tested.

November 4: K fired from new job he just got in April.

November 30: I came down with H1N1.

December 1: My 33rd b-day.

December 22: Drive home to NE for Christmas with family. Slippery, scary roads. Still coughing.

December 22-27: Lovely holiday with family.

December 28: Drive back to MN: some slippery patches; cars upside-down in ditches from the
days before, during the blizzard.

December 31: A quiet New Year's Eve at home: knitting, Flight of the Conchords, reading, tarot.
I made K stay up with me until midnight. Then we went to bed.

Here's to 2010---a hopefully very uneventful year.

Obsessed with Books

2009-11-09T00:18:00.003-06:00

Went to the library today, and as usual, checked out more books than I can read. I'm already reading: Punished by Rewards by Alfie Kohn (amazing. it's blowing my mind!); Shop Class as Soul Craft by Matthew B. Crawford (just read the first few pages); Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout; short stories by Dorothy Parker; Gilda Joyce: Psychic Investigator by Jennifer Allison (YA novel); and Our Babies, Ourselves by Meredith Small (wow. so interesting. making me question our Western ways of raising children). Today I checked out 3 cookbooks (Bon Appetit/Japanese cooking/1950's casserole recipes), 2 kids books, Gilda Joyce (found randomly in juv. section, a book on photographing children, and Real Simple Solutions. From the CSC library, I've checked out New Art City by Jed Perl and two books on music composition by Hindemith and Schoenberg. Also: Sleepytime Songs, The Sweater Chop Shop, and Altered Book Collage.

Why do I do this? Do I have an unhealthy obsession with books? Are books a stand-in for real-life activities? Will I always just be an armchair traveler?

I keep thinking--there's a book out there that's going to change my life--so I check out 30 at a time to find the perfect one for the moment. But most of the time the books go back, unread. Then I think, what's the point of learning about new concepts and ideas from books if I don't share them with others? What's the point of collecting and buying books if they're just going to outlive me? Do I underline telltale passages for future generations so they know what I was like or what I was into? Do I write essays about my favorite books? I love being surrounded by books--I love knowing that I could look up 1960's interior decorating ideas or set up projects around Girl Scout merit badges or reread this passage from Minor Characters by Joyce Johnson:

"I saw my first tenement apartment when I was twenty--top floor of a six-story walkup in Yorkville. Four very small rooms leading into each other railroad style, cracked walls and old tin ceilings that sagged a little. My best friend Elise, who had just moved in there, had painted all of it white, even the linoleum on the floor. What I remember is the amazing light in that place, how it flooded in as if there was no real separation between inside and outside, and everything--what little there was--seemed to be set afloat in it. A light that was almost Mediterranean, giving the scarred, patched walls a chalky thickness like the walls of Greek villas, beatifying the mattress on the floor, the Salvation Army table, the chairs carried in from the street.

"I saw that same extraordinary light in the early apartments of other friends. Why there? The defiant absence of anything over the windows, I guess. Maybe it was just as simple as that."

Do you do that? Just reread your favorite passages over and over again?

Now if I could only apply myself to other areas of life with that much zeal (from reading), I'd be very productive. Reading is a passive activity, but it gives me lots of ideas for active activities. But I forget that other people can't hear the ideas in my head. How do I make them real?

Mazarinkakor

2009-10-24T21:30:00.003-05:00

Why oh why do I order French Toast every time I go out to brunch? It was delicious (fat white bread, bananas, sliced almonds, powdered sugar, butter and maple syrup, alongside homemade sausage). But after I've eaten it I realize I just ate a third of a loaf of bread and several tablespoons of sugar and fat. I'm trying to cut back on sugar, flour products and animal fat, but I'm not having much luck. Especially with the sugar part.

Then, an hour after leaving The Modern I went to book club, where I ate a slice of homemade apple pie and a few of my Swedish almond/chocolate bars (made from a book I found at Goodwill: The Great Scandinavian Baking Book by Beatrice Ojakangas. I love this introduction to the cookie section: "A little table covered with a creamy white, embroidered, lace-edged linen cloth. Coffee cups, a little larger than demitasses, set on saucers; the saucers set on plates with coffee spoons nestled next to the cups and pretty napkins pulled through the handles. A plate of three kinds of buttery cookies in the middle of the table. This scene was set for a simple afternoon coffee during our visit in Norway." I'd love to be in that scene now, eating mandelflarn, kniplingskager, and mazarinkakor, sipping espresso, wearing my blue and white Nordic sweater with the silver frogs, and looking out over snow-capped mountains....).

Seriously, what do you recommend for a sugar addiction? I'm really not addicted to anything else, and I suppose everyone needs a vice, but this is getting ridiculous.

After book club I met up with old college friends Elaine (of Seattle) and Jen (of NYC) at the Caribou Coffee in the Graviidae Commons in downtown Minneapolis. I had never been there before, but from the second floor of the coffee shop you look down onto Nicollet mall from a large picture window. It's one of the best people-watching places I've been. For a few minutes I watched this woman smoking a cigarette as she sat on a bench. She had wild, wind-blown red hair, was 50-something, wore a long gray cable-knit sweater with short sleeves, jeans, and silver bangles and several rings. I watched her watching other people, then pointing down the street-- giving directions to two teenage girls wearing head scarves, and then talking to someone across the street--someone unseen to me, so it looked like this woman was acting in a play. Then she crossed the street to talk to this person and was gone from sight for a few seconds until she reappeared, stubbed out her cigarette, and walked into Marshall's. It was all very Rear Window.

Missing the Point of Human Existence

2009-03-19T20:23:00.000-05:00

Another list (because I'm a lazy writer).

1. I feel like my writing skills have gone down the tube, because I haven't had to write much, in terms of school papers. I also used to be an avid journal-writer, but I got sick of my own naggy voice and the lists! I wrote in them (lazy). But oh, if I could write a blog a day, plus a letter to a friend (short emails have given way to even shorter facebook comments), plus a few creative lines in a notebook, I think I would be much happier, if I could get over my laziness.

2. Where does laziness come from? Is it genetic? Environmental? I'm convinced that Psychology, Neuroscience and Physics can explain everything. I think I spent so much time being lazy as a child (all I did was read and watch t.v.) that it built pathways in my brain for "laziness" and now trying to change those pathways is difficult. And objects at rest want to stay at rest/objects in motion want to stay in motion. I think we will always choose the path of least resistance. So in order to change these pathways I'd have to practice not being lazy for a set amount of time everyday for a month (isn't that how long it takes to form a new habit?). I know I can do this--I've changed my behavior in other ways lately: putting clothes away after I wear them instead of draping them over a chair in my room (I got rid of the chair). I've also been watching less t.v. too.

3. Yes! Less T.V.! Believe it or not it was an Oprah episode on T. V. that made me think twice about my habit. There was an episode about simplifying your life, and one suggestion was to create physical and mental space: i.e. watching less t.v. and cleaning out clutter. So for one day I didn't watch t.v. and it was great! I listened to This American Life online instead (four hours worth, which I guess is another time-sucking activity, but not as bad as t.v.), and listened to music (easy activities with a newborn). Also, brother H's recent visit introduced me to the wonders of watching t.v. shows/movies selectively on Hulu and Netflix. So now I am watching less t.v. (maybe 0-1 hours per day), and listening more. I found myself getting antsy watching my favorite thursday night shows (The Office, 30 Rock, Kath/Kim) last week because they weren't as interesting as listening to T.A.L., which I think is better for my ADD brain then television...

Also, since I have a kid now, I'm more aware of the negative messages/images on t.v. I can't stand the noise of commercials (stop shouting at me, Billy Mays!) or seeing a dead, bloody body each time I turn the channel. What does this do to our psychological state (subconsciously?). Also, I'm convinced that the rapid images and loud sounds on t.v. can cause ADD/ADHD/and autism.

4. I think this is a good time of year to create space. I love Lent because it's a time of reflection, and trying to eliminate the superfluous junk from your life. Every year I try to do something Lenten, whether it's reading some sort of spiritual-themed book or trying to eliminate a bad habit (I never quite do well with these, but it's the thought that counts, right?). I haven't missed Ash Wednesday mass in the last 5 years because I go to the Gonzaga student mass at 10pm, which has been led by this amazing priest there, who gave the best sermons I've ever heard. He basically recycled the same sermon every year, and every year I would take notes in my journal because they were that interesting and uplifting (I miss mass most of the year b/c of bad priests/sermons). He said things like "To fast means to 'fasten' yourself to something you enjoy, or something that will make your life better." There was no fire and brimstone, no guilt in his sermon, just uplifting ideas. The idea he was getting across was the same as Oprah's: if you eliminate stupid stuff from your life you create space for better and greater things.

5. Speaking of Oprah and Lent, I've been skimming Eckhart Tolle's A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose. I've been skimming it because a lot of it repeats itself (okay we get it: the ego is bad!) and some of it is just made-up b.s. with no research behind it (okay if you're a spiritual advisor, I guess). But I've written down a few things that I think are right on, such as his definition of sin (which I've always thought was a problematic word. I think religious institutions want you to think sinning equals eliminating the fun things from life such as dancing, drinking, having sex, swearing, etc.). But here's the best and most satisfying definition I've ever heard:

(from Greek): "To miss the mark, as an archer who misses the target, so to sin means to miss the point of human existence. It means to live unskillfully, blindly, and thus to suffer and cause suffering" (pg. 9).

Wow, isn't this ironic? He seems to be describing the history and present state of the Catholic Church (and other world religions as well).

I also like this:

"Whatever action you take in a state of inner resistance (negativity) will create more outer resistance, and the universe will not be on your side: life will not be helpful....

When you yield internally, when you surrender, a new dimension of consciousness opens up. If action is possible or necessary your action will be in alignment with the whole and supported by creative intelligence" (pg. 58).

Okay, as a side note I have to admit I read cheesy books by Wayne Dyer and Sonia Choquette, but this statement above is similar to quotes I have written down from the above new-age authors. Here's something I wrote in my notebook from WD's The Power of Intention and Your Heart's Desire by SC:

"You attract what you focus on."

Meaning, if you focus on the negative aspects of your life (I'll never get my dream job/house/spouse...) you attract that negative energy from the universe and you will never find your dream job/house/spouse. But if you focus and imagine in your mind's eye positive things (like visualizing your perfect house or state of health, etc) you will attract those things.

To me, this makes a lot of sense. I'm realizing that during the past few years I've been a negative person (again, I think t.v. adds to my negative emotions). But since baby E (I swear I visualized having a baby and it worked! I was convinced for a while I was infertile....) I've tried to be more positive, even if I feel tired or crappy or crabby.

My last post was very negative and crabby. I'm also realizing that my ego gets in the way a lot. I think if I focus less on the product (making great art/publishing/showing at galleries...) and more on the process, it won't matter if my work never leaves the house. Rushmore is one of my favorite movies because of what Max Fisher says towards the beginning: "Find something you love to do and do it for the rest of your life. For me that's going to Rushmore." Now I have to find my Rushmore.

Anyway, I've babbled for too long. These are just some of the things I've been thinking about lately.

In a Parallel Universe I Would....

2009-02-26T14:21:00.001-06:00

So a few weeks ago I thought I solved the work/stay-at-home debate. But when you need money, what do you do?

We're doing fine, actually, but I want to feel like I'm contributing to the family income. I know I contribute in non-monetary ways (like taking care of cute little E), but I would feel better if I could help with bills, diapers, and dog food (etc.). Some of it too is wanting to stay involved, to be on some sort of career track. But what career track is that? I've spent the last ten years lazing around--not working hard enough to be a better private lesson teacher (I feel like I'm only operating at 10% of my potential), not trying hard enough during grad school (out of several student performance hours and composition recitals I only prepared one of my pieces for performance. Sad! Most of that came from the fear of putting my music out there)---not trying hard enough during grad school and therefore not getting all the teaching experience I wanted--teaching experience that is crucial for wanting to teach college-level courses later.

How have I futzed away 10 years? How do I get out of this rut?

I had this weird vision last night while watching "Me and You and Everyone We Know" (I liked it! It was weird--I had to watch it twice), which features a woman who does bizarre digital art and tries to submit her work to a contemporary art museum (and succeeds). I tried to picture in my mind what my art would look like if the New York Times did an article about it. I visualized the article, and saw my name in print, but I knew deep down that this could happen only in a parallel universe--or with a crazy amount of hard work, risk-taking, good timing, luck, and meeting the right people. Have you been in a position where you've seen art or writing and you're like, "I can write better than that!" Or, "God, I'll never be able to write/make art like that!" I feel like that's where I am--knowing I can create something beautiful but not knowing how to get there from here, or knowing if it's worthwhile. Seriously, how many writers and artists and composers can the world handle? Don't we have too many (bad ones) all ready? Is it worth the hassle of writing something and trying to get it published (which may never happen)? Does a piece of art not really exist unless someone looks at it, reads it, or listens to it? What if you just made stuff, and no one, outside of yourself ever saw it/heard it/read it? Should you try to sell your art or just make it? Are you an artist if your paintings never leave the house?

I'm thinking about these issues because it would be great to sit here and write/make art while baby sleeps and send it off to get it published and get a nice little paycheck to help buy the dog food and diapers. But even if I write and write until my eyeballs fall out and my fingers cramp up--I'm not guaranteed any money for my hard work. What are your options as a stay-at-home mom? What are your options for staying on some sort of career track?

The Sorceress

2009-02-20T13:18:00.000-06:00

On Friday the 13th I managed to sneak out of the house for a few hours to go to an Evelyn Glennie concert. K had ordered tickets about a year ago, before little E came into existence; K stayed home with the little munchkin while a girlfriend and I went out to see the show.

Many of you may know about my E.G. obsession. Ever since seeing Touch the Sound, a documentary about her, I've been dying to see her perform live. E.G. is a virtuoso percussionist from Scotland who also happens to be profoundly deaf. If you haven't seen this film, Netflix it straight away. When I taught my humanities class a few years ago, I showed clips of this film to the students. Afterwards a student came up to me and said this movie made her want to do something with her life (it makes me feel that way too).

I was hoping for a 5-hour percussion orgy onstage, but alas--she only played on two pieces with the Symphony. The pieces were amazing though--one was Webern's Langsamer Satz (which wasn't as atonal as I was expecting it to be) and Schwantner's Concerto for Percussion and Orchestra (which was amazing a haunting but too short--I thought she had just ended the first movement when the audience started clapping).

She came out in an elegant, plain sapphire blue dress and artistic-looking necklace; her hair was long and silvery and she wore funky glasses. She plays barefoot so she can hear the vibrations through her feet. Her playing was so powerful--she was like a sorceress drawing out energy from the earth through large bass drums, the marimba, crotales, gongs, the vibraphone, and other miscellaneous percussion. It was also incredibly perfect--every flam and shake and rattle was crisp and clear, like what tap dancers strive for. The marimba part in the concerto was crazy--super fast and repetitive over quite a few measures. I wondered--how is it that her arms don't fall off? Or stop or lag from exhaustion? But they were supple and elastic--almost supernatural.

The most beautiful thing about it all was the way she used her whole body while playing. It was all like a dance--visually and aurally stunning. She was amazing to watch and listen to. That's what I've noticed about truly great musicians--they use their whole bodies. At the university I attended I was friends with a Japanese girl who was a piano performance major. She was only 22 I think, but watching her perform was like watching a much older and experienced pianist. She moved with the music, throwing her whole torso into Beethoven's allegros, her arms floating during the adagios. I had never seen anyone play that way, especially someone around my own age. And I think her movements made a difference in her playing--she had the most nuanced and beautiful sound out of any student (or professional for that matter,) I'd seen live. If I could learn how to use my body like that, I think my own playing would improve greatly. Instead I feel stiff and often have problems with sore wrists and back. How do they do it?

Is it too late for me to become a percussionist? What I love about it is that you aren't limited to one instrument, but you have so many different ones to choose from--the melodic instruments (marimba, vibraphone, etc.), and the pitched/non-pitched membranophones (I think that's what they're called). You also have household objects and your body to use as an instrument. There are also limitless objects to strike the instruments--mallets, wands, sticks, hands....

My percussion instructor at the university didn't take me seriously when I told him I wanted to start over as a percussionist. I felt such power holding mallets--similar to how I feel when I hold a paintbrush. Maybe that's what holding a magic wand is like.

What I was also thinking during her performance--she could kick any guy's ass if it came down to a drum-off. She's faster, more graceful, and more powerful. I do worry that girls are discouraged from playing the more loud, aggressive, fun, percussion instruments in schools. In our percussion ensemble the girls were almost always assigned the triangle or shakers--never the quad drums or the snare. Maybe that was just my perception (I was only in the ensemble for a year)--but I do wonder if girls are discouraged more than encouraged to play these instruments.

Anyway, check out Touch the Sound--she's amazing.

Eyebrows!

2009-02-17T23:30:00.000-06:00

Baby is sleeping. Dog is sleeping.

A quick random post:

1. At the dentist's office yesterday, the hygienist told me I have a geographic tongue. I wonder if this says anything about my own tendencies to wander?

2. Right now I'm listening to Geographer. Gorgeous music--the male lead singer has the most beautiful voice I've heard in a band. Also Elliot likes it--I think that's why he's been sleeping so long.

The last show our band, The Triumphant Returns, played was a show in Seattle with Geographer. That's how I heard about them. I got a chance to chat with the lead singer, who was very nice. I can't remember much about the conversation but he did tell me the drummer went to the Berklee School of Music and that they are from San Francisco.

That's what I miss most about being in a band--talking to the other bands you play with. This night was especially great for talking to other musicians and audience members. The bar was packed and sweaty, and I was tired but it was a great way to say goodbye to the Triumphant Returns.

At this show, back in June? I got hit on by a young 20-something guy from Cornish School of the Arts. He must have not noticed my ring finger or slightly protruding belly. I had to enlighten him on my status. He was cute and kinda nice yet kinda icky--he only talked to me when his girlfriend went to the bathroom. He also dissed Spokane ("why would anyone want to live there?"). But when he found out my matronly status he was a lot nicer and wished me well.

3. I'm obsessed with eyebrows now. I picked up the February issue of Vogue at the grocery store, which I never do--I'm usually not into that arrogant, over-the-top fashion stuff, but for some reason I started noticing models' eyebrows and how lovely they looked (weird!). I'm now growing out my poorly tweezed eyebrows so I can get a "professional" eyebrow wax.

I'm also watching Gossip Girl on the CW channel--not for the writing or content (which is pretty stupid actually--it's about rich teens who go to an elite Manhattan private school)--but for the well-waxed eyebrows and great fashion. I know! What's wrong with me?

4. Speaking of fashion, I've also been looking at The Sartorialist. I feel like I want to be more stylish, and I'm learning that it's all about your accessories: a great (big) handbag, a fabulous necklace or bracelet that provides a focal point, crazy-looking sandals or boots, a scarf draped artistically around your shoulders, a simple haircut, and excellent eyebrows!

5. For details on my labor/birth, and on the little one write or call me. Too much info to write here.

6. I'm enjoying listening to music and watching T.V. with the sound off. The New Yankee Workshop and Bob Ross on PBS are excellent for this purpose. Also, we have a new movie channel here, that plays super random movies that no one has heard of ( a ski movie from the 80's, a movie with Ruth Gordon punching a man dressed as a gorilla in the crotch, many Burt Reynolds movies, etc.). This has also been entertaining.

7. It's probably a good thing newborns are so challenging--otherwise we wouldn't want them to grow up. They are so cute and snuggly....and difficult.

8. I'm wondering about the stay-at-home/go-back-to-work debate that mothers have. I don't actually think this dichotomy exists anymore for me. Your children are babies for such a short amount of time--it seems like a drop in the bucket in the ocean of your lifespan. I want to hold Elliot as much as possible before he is too old and big, which will happen soon I'm afraid.

9. Reading: Best American Short Stories; Sounding the Inner Landscape (a book on music as medicine), Ted Kooser's Delights and Shadows.

10. The further away from school I get the more I love music. I mean really love it.

The last posting of 2008!

2008-12-31T21:43:00.000-06:00

Ah snow.

Snow, snow, more snow. And then some.

How many inches have accumulated here in the last 2 weeks? Fifty inches or more? I've lost track. All I know is that I've been trapped in the house, afraid to venture out. Spokane's plowing system isn't the most efficient, and people here don't like to shovel their sidewalks. I have taken a few slow waddly walks and taken the bus downtown twice (on Christmas Eve and today for a few hours). But mostly I've been watching cooking shows on PBS, Oprah, and misc. bad yet strangely compelling shows on the CW--Gossip Girl/90210/Privileged. I've also been crocheting, baking, and reading too: Ellen Klages' The Green Glass Sea and White Sands, Red Menace (thanks J! Love them). Baking: I made aniseplatzchen, pfeffernuse, janhagels (all from the Great Cookies cookbook by Carole Walter) and orange rolls for Christmas brunch. The aniseplatzchen was amazing and also a sort of culinary mystery: you whip 3 eggs with sugar for 50 minutes straight and you come out with these merengue-y cookies that separate into two layers--a crunchy outer layer and a soft inner layer. Amazing! But I don't recommend them unless you have a stand mixer.

A few interesting things to note: a few weeks ago, when we were walking Zuzu before the snowstorm hit, as we were walking by a neighbor's house, we noticed a strange sight: a baby kangaroo was bouncing around their fenced-in yard, wearing a red t-shirt. We thought--what the hell? It has to be illegal to own a kangaroo here. So we contacted Spokanimal, just in case (these same people keep a big black lab chained up outside all the time, with a tiny little doghouse--poor guy). Turns out that this kangaroo is known as a "Wallaroo" and is somewhat legal? as long as you register it? I don't know--sounds weird to me (what is that poor baby doing now with all the snow?). Zuzu was very curious--it's not a cat or a dog or a squirrel or a bird--so what the hell is it?

Also: a bunch of mysterious white feathers strewn all over our back yard....(before the snow).

What else? Just waiting for this wiggly baby to squirm out.

Europe will be more fun without you

2008-12-10T22:55:00.000-06:00

"For me, 'high' is a place--and sometimes I want to go there."

So started Rick Steves' talk about the legalization of marijuana--a lecture entitled "Marijuana: It's Time for a Conversation."

How could I not go to this? It was free and featured my favorite PBS travel guide--someone I had spent late nights with in Rome, Paris, Croatia--someone who wears his signature black backpack and pleated khaki pants, his George H.W. wire-rimmed glasses and white tennis shoes with such sweetness and nerdiness. I was a little daunted by the long line outside the "Bing" theater on a cold October evening, not wanting to have to stand, as a pregnant lady, during the lecture. But I got a great seat in the balcony and settled down to hear my favorite travel guru talk about drugs. We watched a really cheesy infomercial-like film about decriminalizing marijuana, which featured Rick, of course, and it took all of my will-power to keep from giggling--the earnest looks on the actors'/audience members' faces, the clips from that 30's movie, Refer Madness, and a graphic of a spinning U.S. Constitution, which was written on--you guessed it--hemp paper! hurtling towards me on the screen. Wow! I think this film is online, if you really want to watch it (and giggle in the privacy of your own home).

But the best part was hearing Rick talk about the creative solutions to drug problems in Europe. He said a lot of public bathrooms in Zurich have blue lights, so drug addicts can't see their veins. He also said there are heroin maintenance clinics, where addicts can get their drugs safely and speak to a nurse or counselor at the same time. In France, apparently there are more boys than girls who use marijuana, because, the government thinks, boys are really afraid to talk to girls so they need something to relax them. The government decided to solve this problem by funding flirting seminars--to help boys hone their asking-out skills.

He also used the word "shitfaced" when referring to the keggers that Scandinavian parents throw for their teenaged children about to graduate from high school (I wrote in my journal: I can't believe that R.S. just said "shitfaced"!).

I learned a lot--including that I love R.S. more than ever. He is really funny and intelligent in real life, a great speaker, and not a complete dork like he is on his show (but that's another reason why I love him).

Here are some other notable quotes from his lecture:

"I try to find creative ways to get the word 'marijuana' in my guide books."

"There's nothing innovative about 'just say no.'

(in reference to the 1980's war on drugs and the DARE program)

"Europe will be more fun without you."

(what R.S. thinks but doesn't say to an old man threatening to stop buying his guide books if he continues to support the legalization of marijuana).

I had to leave during the question and answer portion. The audience was filled with a combination of elderly folks interested in the medical uses of marijuana and a bunch of college-aged pot-heads who would go up to the microphone and, in that drug-induced stoner drawl, meander on an on about the merits of marijuana and how beautiful it is, etc. etc. The old people would start their diatribes with: "I have this problem with (fill in the blank some medical condition) and my doctor says (blah blah blah) and if I only had access to medical marijuana (etc.).....

And, of course he ended his talk with, "Happy Travels!"

Turkey to-do list

2008-11-26T19:42:00.001-06:00

Hello again.

I've decided to start posting again, because there have been some funny/interesting things that I've experienced lately and want to write about. Also, I'm dying to write about issues I've been having with piano lessons. However, right now I need to get to my Thanksgiving to-do list:

1. Make pumpkin pie.

2. Make porcini-onion stuffing.

3. Make citrus-shallot vinagrette for salad.

4. Wash dishes.

5. Vacuum floor.

6. Eat a Mozart marzipan.

The Weather Report from Spokane

2008-09-15T16:45:00.000-05:00

Is it possible to tire of gorgeous 80-degree sunny weather?

yes.

I want to remember what rain is like.

Found Poem

2008-03-22T03:25:00.000-05:00

tracks in snow
Boot prints, car prints,
cat prints--
animal and machine--
Crazy Jean
Asian girl
(angel?)
messenger?

(A list on a piece of paper in my handwriting found between the pages of Zilpha Keatley Snyder's The Headless Cupid. I have no idea what these things were referring to...).

Navigating the Imagination (and this blog post)

2008-02-15T00:58:00.000-06:00

I have been super over-stimulated lately, and I think it's because of all these new things that have been coming into my life lately. For example:

1) We finally got a new (used) couch. Super cheap on craigslist and oh so comfy and huge--I couldn't believe it. I had no idea how immense modern furniture is. We've only had 1960's era thrift store couches, and to see this monster canvas slate blue sofa and chair makes me giggle and want to build a nice cozy blanket fort. The ottoman itself is about the same size as a child's single bed. All I want to do now is lounge around, writing on my Levenger lap desk and reading my amazing new Joseph Cornell book, which incidentally matches the sofa (thanks KW!!).

2) Lynda Roscoe Hartigan's Joseph Cornell: Navigating the Imagination, a gift that found its way on my doorstep on Monday. The paper Cornellian mountain on the cover reminds me of the mountains I see in the distance when I drive towards Coeur D'Alene, which makes me remember that I actually live by gorgeous rugged topography (I forget sometimes because I can't see them from my house). This book is truly amazing--I've only managed to read the first few pages, but already Hardigan is discussing the very issues that interest me most about Cornell: how his art was inspired by enchanted wanderings throughout Manhattan during the 20's-50's. Also, there are many photos and images of his older collage art from the 30's that I've never seen before.

I can't help but think of how I got interested in Cornell in the first place. It was during the J-term of 1998 when four of us girls (you know who you are!) took the train to Chicago from St. Paul--my first train ride and excursion to the windy city. All I remember of that trip is the drinking of wine coolers in our hotel room, smoking gold-filtered Fantasia Lights on the steps of the Art Institute by the bronze lions, drooling over a cute waiter at Bennigan's across the street, giggling at sailors (it felt just like a musical), admiring all the revolving doors downtown (even Walgreen's had one!), and discovering Cornell's art in the Surrealist wing of the Institute.

I was alone--I had wandered far from my friends, who were by that time waiting for me in the cafe downstairs. I remember I almost missed the Cornell exhibit--suffering from glazed-over gallery eye, I was halfway through it when I became aware of what I was looking at. It was a strange moment of awakening--like I had found something I had lost, and hadn't realized it was missing until I discovered it. His work was so small, like a whisper, that I felt like the first person to really see it. It seemed like suddenly all my wistful thoughts and longings had found a form, and that I was looking at mysterious objects not in a museum, but in a dusty attic in an old crumbling Victorian house. I was so excited about his work that as soon as we got back to St. Paul, I gushed to my art history professor that I felt like I finally found my calling--to be a Cornell scholar. Well, I'm not a J.C. scholar (yet) but this book makes the fourth book in my J.C. library, so I feel like an imaginary amateur DIY scholar....

Anyway, I can't wait to digest the rest of the book.

3) Speaking of books, I'm trying to get through Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance for book club, but the going is slow. I have no objection to the book per se, but so far only horrible, depressing things have happened, so I don't feel much drive to finish. The writing is nice and I'm learning a lot about the history of India during the 20th century through different character's eyes, but I'm a little bored with it to be perfectly honest.

Just finished the His Dark Materials trilogy. Loved it! I want more though. I feel like the last book ended with a big question mark. Won't see the movie because I've heard it just makes you mad if you've read the book.

4) Preparing the house's interiors for new wall paint. Finally! No more black trim in the bathroom (what kind of crazy person paints their bathroom black??).

5) New private piano students. Yay!

6) New music ideas: just got a new 3-octave synth that has lots of neat-o electronic sounds on it. I just have to figure out how it works....

7) A sad note: Zuzu got bitten by an aggressive dog at dog camp on Tuesday. She has some nasty, bloody wounds that the vet stitched up, so the poor baby has to wear a lampshade on her head. It's the saddest sight ever. I can tell she's starting to feel a little better though, because she wanted me to chase her around the backyard while she carried an ice chip in her mouth.

8) Spokane is finally awakening from a deep snow-induced slumber. Because S-town has practically no budget for snow removal, the streets were a mess for a whole two weeks, and lazy ass-faces did not even attempt to clear their sidewalks (except for us-- well K actually). Schools were canceled for a whole week the end of January. It was actually kind of fun to drive by Manito park and see the little puffy figures of kids in snow suits and moon boots sled down the hill. But now, it's gradually melting, and I feel my S.A.D. disappearing.

9) Cut off a few inches of shaggy hair (now I'm back to the flapper look); Found two gorgeous Banana Republic tops at a thrift store (one is silk cashmere!): two examples of how I'm gradually replacing the dumpy high-school look for a more 30-something wardrobe.

10) Taking piano lessons from a guy whose grandma played for silent films in the 20s in Seattle.

11) Feeling renewed from Christmas vacation in NE. It was the first time I've been home in 5 years (sad, isn't it?). I had a most lovely and amazing time. The highlights include: leisurely 3-hour reading marathons with brother H (he was in a Harry Potter frenzy; me in a Golden Compass one); all-day baking extravaganza on Christmas eve, listening to some good tunes, also with H; opening gifts with the family in our pajamas; hanging out in Mom's art room, typing away on my grandma's 1970s yellow electric typewriter; dancing to a live blues band with funny and tipsy stepfather in C-town (I swear the lead blues singer was Jeremy Irons); visiting my grandmas; dancing to Wham at a high school friend's party in Lincoln (and later discussing the merits of a McDonald's filet-o-fish), and playing Rock Band (the video game) at G and C's small mansion until 5 in the morning with old and dear friends.

12) Two friends having babies this spring. My babysitting services have been offered, and I'm picturing myself making them cute little homemade stuffed animals.

13) Check out my new links. I love the layout of Posy Gets Cozy. She's a crafter from Portland, OR, my most favoritist city ever.

(This long blog is what happens when you don't post for two months).

Last day of being 30 on November 30th

2007-12-01T01:53:00.000-06:00

In a few minutes I'll be 31. Time to wake up!

Horrible excuses for not posting

2007-11-06T00:46:00.001-06:00

I knew weekends would be a big black hole in terms of posting.....

But I wasn't lazy this past weekend--honest! Friday was spent on a day hike with some elementary kids (more about that later--there is just too much stuff to write about now); Saturday was spent getting a haircut, running errands, lalala, etc.; Sunday was spent entirely on grading elementary art projects (I had just been informed at 2pm by a teacher grades were due on Monday! Eeek! I had like 4 weeks of projects to grade) and TR band practice. Today was spent teaching art (a kindergarten boy came up to me and told me I had a "witch nose." But it was okay because his mom had one too. Aw, ain't that sweet?).

Tomorrow we leave early to drive to the Oregon Coast for our yearly (3-day) vacation spent at our favorite B&B. Then, we'll be spending two glorious days in Portland. I already have a big list of things to do there (go to arcade/bar in Chinatown to play vintage pinball; eat froot-loop doughnut at Voo-doo doughnut shop; buy Japanese stationery at Powells and check out haunted rare-book room; eat a lovely chocolate concoction called the Aphrodite at Pix Patisserie; shop at various vintage/used clothing stores; buy clogs? Write postcards at the Nob Hill Pharmacy cafe; get a tarot reading at New Renaissance Bookshop; etc.......).

I promise I will journal via the old-fashioned way and update when I return next week.

By the way, I'm curious what you thought of The Darjeeling Limited.

Orff Orgy

2007-11-02T00:43:00.000-05:00

I'm sad that October is over; it's my favorite month. I spent every beautiful autumn day inside playing piano for Disney's! High! School! Musical! But, I actually had fun doing that, so I'm not complaining too much.

I like the first day of a new month. I feel like I can start over with new projects or goals, such as writing every day for this thing called NaBloPoMo or whatever the hell it's called. To kick off the new day, I spent about 30 minutes free-writing on my Hermes 3000 sea-green typewriter. That thing is so fun to play with that I get excited to write instead of scared. I love the way the letters thwack the page--it makes every letter and word seem really important, like it's followed by an exclamation point. The computer paper I'm using is so thin that the letters press through the page and make holes. Maybe this is a new art form (I thought of it first!).

My too-ambitious goals for November are:
*finish two short stories
*start making cool X-mas gifts
*use up the huge amount of cute Japanese stationery in my desk (beware: you might get a letter soon!)
*take voice lessons (I might sign up to direct another musical, so if I'm going to do more vocal coaching I need to know something about it.....haha I fooled the last people.....but I started running out of vocal warm-ups...I'm sick of that "who washed washington's underwear" thing...)
*Learn Debussy's piano Image Homage to Rameau.
*Become a student of rhythm (buy myself some drum sticks)
*Learn a few French phrases

Speaking of rhythm, I'm really obsessed with the White Rabbits. They played here a couple weeks ago at this little coffee shop/bar not too long after they played on Letterman. I don't think I've danced harder since 80's night at the Bricktop in Lincoln NE in August (in a bridesmaid dress). OMG (yes, I'm using a Millenial colloquiallism) it was one of the best rock shows I've seen. The band is made up of 6 (good-looking) guys wearing tweed blazers, skinny ties, sweater vests, and boat shoes (It was all very Columbia University, circa 1981). The 7th guy, dressed the same, but with very 80's, round tortoiseshell glasses videotapes the band while they play. There are two drum kits, each drummer playing different yet complimentary rhythms, while the other members play keys, beat on toms or the rims of toms, shake tambourines, play guitar, and bass. There are a lot of vocal harmonies too. They use a lot of David Bowie-dance and calypso- inspired rhythms, using claves and maracas. If it weren't for the gross couple dirty dancing in front of me I would say that was one of the most fun evenings I've had in a while. So, all I've been doing all month is listening to the WR, with some occasional Electrelane and Camera Obscura.

Last night, we saw Modest Mouse (yes, in Spokane! 'lil 'ol Spokane!). I have to say though, that the show was a bit of a disappointment. Once their roadies set up the stage, it took them about a half-hour to actually get their asses on stage and play. Then, they waited a good 15 minutes or so to come out for an encore. And, they also had the two-drum-kit set up, but it seemed as if both guys were playing the same thing. So, not as impressive as the WR. Also, it was hot and sticky and crowded, with people in costume (actually that was the highlight) and people pushing their way to the front and someone passing gas in front of us the whole time. I was wearing my ubiquitous blonde Andy Warhol/Menards guy/Phyllis Diller/Marilyn Monroe wig and tights. So I was suffering pretty badly, on top of standing for four hours on a belly full of spicy/creamy Indian food. Actually, dinner was the best part of last night, in addition to one of the opening bands, ManMan, which was a fun-percussive-Tom Waits meets the Muppets-Orff orgy of sound.

Until tomorrow--

The Moon is an Alien Pod

2007-10-10T02:12:00.000-05:00

I'm so frustrated, where do I begin?

1. Subbing at a school makes me realize there are so many problems with school and that I have no power or credentials to fix them. And subbing is inherently flawed because you have no opportunity to form a relationship with the students or fellow teachers or parents. And teaching art for three hours one day a week with no art room (which means no sink, storage space for wet paintings, or money to buy new paint.....) is just crazy. They'd be better off just dropping the art program.

2. I feel like the victim of sexism, but I can't tell if I'm just lazy or it's sexism. Or a little bit of both. But let me tell you, sexism is alive and well if you want to be a woman composer, conductor, or jazz musician. And to be honest I'm sick of this male idea of music that has to be show-offy and loud for the sake of being show-offy and loud. I feel like I need to balance all this testosterone with a month in a convent in Italy. Or France. Someplace scenic and far away. I'd be interested in hearing if any of you out there have experienced sexism in the arts. Esp. music. I'll share my story more in-depth in a personal, bitchy letter.

3. The thought that I will be poor forever with no hope for savings or retirement because I chose a career in the arts and teaching fields.

4. I just got an email from the secretary of the ESD office here who said my certification for WA was pending because they don't accept faxed signatures. They want the goddamn originals. Why? What difference does it make? It's this miniscule buracracy bullshit that makes me not want to work in schools. Or other institutions/corporations. Ever.

On a positive note, the musical is going well; I'm actually enjoying playing piano for these super cheesy shows and little kids in the audience with all of their HSM paraphanalia: light up shoes! Lunch bags and backpacks! Pom poms!

Oh, and tonight at a party, this guy was telling me he believes human beings came from aliens who did genetic engineering experiments at the beginning of time to create the human race. And that the moon is really an alien pod where they live inside it and watch their human experiment from above. And that Noah's ark was really fully of animal DNA, not actual animals. It was all so entertaining!

Artistic Q-tips

2007-09-13T16:41:00.000-05:00

No, I'm not bored at all......

Seriously, these q-tips fell on a towel and I liked they way they looked--sort of like an abstract dada piece. Sort of.

If you're back reading this, I've decided to start posting again after a long hiatus. I've been busy with:
1. graduating from grad school
2. going to pig roasts (ask me about this!)
3. playing ulimate frisbee (once)
4. driving to nebraska and back to dance in an orange bridesmaid dress at a club for 80's night and get beer spilled all over me, and eating a Jimmy Johns sandwich in the middle of UNL's sculpture garden at 3am with old friends who knew me when I was 15, while watching a tall guy climb a tree and almost fall down....
5. trying to find creative work that pays something and finding little gigs at local children's theatre and parochial school
6. reading everything Madeleine L'Engle wrote (I started this before she passed away, I swear! It was a strange sort of synchronicity.....)
7. playing in a rock band (and hosting a rock band in our house--they needed somewhere to stay for the night, so they slept on our hard, dog-fur covered floors and in the morning we fixed them eggs and bacon while their keyboardist played Chopin and Beethoven by memory on the upright. No, it wasn't surreal at all.....).
8. listening to Joni Mitchell's Hejira album obsessively and trying to play tunes on the guitar
9. hydro-seeding the backyard, building a tall wooden fence, putting in bark landscape borders and otherwise acting like old people, doing yard work on the weekends and going to bed by 10pm.
10. reading as much as I can find about Gabriele Munter

That's the general overview. Here is something to ponder:

*11 pairs of identical gray New Balance tennis shoes, in the same state of wear, the same size, placed on successive steps in a hidden, carpeted stairwell.

Amazing, isn't it? I actually saw it. Now use your imagination......

Just for fun

2007-04-25T21:35:00.000-05:00

To take a break from the never-ending and tedious process of editing music and parts, I decided to pick out random books from my shelf and open them up to random pages to see where my eye fell, randomly. For fun. And because I'm bored.

"Rather than mouth 'some invented cliches' in place of a 'poetic' correspondence, she explained to Cornell that she preferred to stay silent. Even so, she remained close in his reverie, as he jotted in his diary in 1946: 'dream of D [orothea] in bare feet and saw-dust,' a notation cryptically appended to a reminder to write Ernst."
--from "Joseph Cornell: Gifts of Desire" by Dickran Tashjian.

"We've all heard that the unexamined life is not worth living, but consider too that the unlived life is not worth examining."
--from "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron

"Then Jesse saw something that made her pause. A light in the garden flickered in and out of the bushes. Someone was out there with a flashlight."
--from "Undercover Girl" by Christine Harris

"Ken looked up and was more frightened than ever. His father's face looked appalling. It was swollen out of all shape, one eye was closed by purple and black lumps above and below, and the white dressing on the cheekbone was surrounded by an inflamed, angry circle."
--from "My Friend Flicka" by Mary O'Hara

"Mr. Bigger frowned. 'Tell him to wait,' he said irritably. He coughed and turned back to the Lord of the Manor. 'If I had any capital to spare, I'd put it all into late Venetians. Every penny.'"
--from "The Portrait" by Aldous Huxley (from an issue of Cicada magazine, May/June 2004)

"After they had driven the counter girl into a state of despair, the children took their purchases and went for a walk along the main and only drag. They tried, as always, to peer into the frosted windows of the saloons to see what kind of degenerates were inside at one in the afternoon. As always, someone came by and scolded them for hanging around a saloon."
--from "An Occassional Cow" by Polly Horvath

"'If a kiss could be seen I think it would look like a violet,' said Priscilla."
--from "Anne of Avonlea" by L.M. Montgomery

"We now have an inkling of the unbelievable fertility of the universe, of the constant birthings of atoms and molecules, eggs and spermatozoa, of cells and living organisms in water and on land in this so-far-unique of all cosmic places, the Earth."
--from "Original Blessing" by Matthew Fox

"The writer Annie Dillard once observed that 'the way we spend our days is the way we spend our lives.' The way we live our lives also depends on the questions we ask."
--from "Callings" by Gregg Levoy

"Don't be afraid to answer the questions. You will find endless resources inside yourself. Writing is the act of burning through the fog in your mind. Don't carry the fog out on paper. Even if you are not sure of something, express it as though you know yourself. With this practice you eventually will."
--from "Writing Down the Bones" by Natalie Goldberg

"The function of descriptions in fiction is generally to deepen the illusion of person and place--to recreate their substance in the imagination of the reader, so that he is willing to believe he is in the presence of reality."
--from "Writing Fiction" by R. V. Cassill

"Yet there are thousands who have pondered the question of reality, and to the above statement their response might be, 'Not so fast!' Plato, remember, believed that only the Forms were real, because the Forms, being universal abstractions and never having had material substance, could therefore never change. Plato believed things that changed--the familiar world as well as the people in it--could not possess reality, because if they did, we would have to say that real things could come into and pass out of existence. How can they be real one minute and not real the next?"
--from "The Art of Being Human: the Humanities as a Technique for Living" by Richard Paul Janaro and Thelma C. Altshuler

"Physicists describe these two properties of physical laws--that they do not depend on when or where you use them--as symmetries of nature. By this usage physicists mean that nature treats every moment in time and every location in space identically--symmetrically--by ensuring that the same fundamental laws are in operation. Much in the same manner that they affect art and music, such symmetries are deeply satisfying; they highlight an order and a coherence in the workings of nature. The elegance of rich, complex, and diverse phenomena emerging from a simple set of universal laws is at least part of what physicists mean when they invoke the term 'beautiful.'"
--from "The Elegant Universe" by Brian Greene

what I've been doing lately

2007-04-10T15:58:00.000-05:00

Highlights of the last few weeks:

1. We got to eat two Easter dinners! One monday night and one sunday afternoon: 2 hams, several deviled eggs, some with salmon and dill, asparagus, scalloped potatoes, roasted potatoes, creamed corn, green bean casserole, iceberg salad, buns, lime jello fluff, chocolate cake with purply tasting frosting, no-bake cheesecake with gingersnap crust, lots of wine, and a shot of Ukranian vodka. The sunday afternoon dinner was had with Nancy and Brian, after which we played a game of Pit and sat around watching Zuzu sniff around their lovely huge backyard and chew on a block of wood. The monday night feast was celebrated with oodles of people at Remi and Jen's condo, where we gorged on the above foods, which come to think of it, were very midwestern. Some of the guests had never heard of or seen creamed corn or jell-o fluff. Imagine!

2. On saturday, K and I worked (well K did most of the work--I helped) on the back patio. He rented a truck for the day and hauled several loads of gravel, sand, and mulch that went into beatifying our ugly, mostly dirt and weeds, backyard. The weather here was gorgeous: 62 degrees and sunny. I put a kerchief on my head, rolled up my short-sleeved tee-shirt so I wouldn't get a farmer's tan, and raked sand and shoveled mulch for a few hours. The experience was actually cathartic? I felt my brain relaxing while my muscles burned from repetitive shoveling and raking motions. It's exactly what I needed too--Do you ever notice that your brain hurts from thinking too much? I've been writing so much music that my head literally feels bruised and achey. It felt good to get dirty and sweaty and concentrate on physical tasks, which made me realize how separated I am from what my farming ancestors did everyday. I'm such a pathetic city girl that I have no idea where most grocery store food comes from, how to grow flowers in my backyard, or how to start a compost pile. My grandparents and great-grand parents would be ashamed! The best part about saturday was riding around in the pickup truck. We drove to K's coworker's house to haul some old wooden fencing away, in hopes we might use it for our own backyard (right now we have chain-link with white plastic slats. Ick!). I can seriously see why people buy trucks--you feel a sense of power being up that high and rocking out to the classic rock station (c'mon, you can't listen to NPR in a truck!). I haven't ridden in a truck since high school, or earlier (not counting the big fancy white truck my dad drives around). I used to ride in my cousins' truck on their farm in eastern NE, which smelled of shit and dirt and gasoline. Is it possible to miss smells like that?

3. A few weeks ago I played in my first rock show ever. I made my keyboard debut with the T.R.'s, which consists of friends of ours. It was a total blast. The venue was full of K's work people, so they helped out with the drunken screaming and clapping and dancing to our songs. I had always wanted to be in a rock band, and now I am! It's totally a just-for-fun band but we're going to try to play more shows this summer and fall. We're also looking for a key-tar, so if you see one, send it our way. That's the only thing the last show was missing.....

4. Books read: Jane Eyre, The Bone People by Keri Hulme (loved it!!!), and Prodigal Summer by Barbara Kingsolver (good! but a little preachy.). Want to start on the new Sherman Alexie novel, Flight, which is about a time-traveling Indian. We're going to see Alexie at The Bing on the 22nd. Can't wait!

5. I've been chained to my computer. The agony isn't over yet--I still have to finish a few things, edit everything, and edit parts (which is the most awful boring thing ever). Then comes finding people, rehearsing, and trying not to go crazy in the process. The first person to hand me a bottle of gin after my recital gets a gold medal.

(insert clever title here)

2007-03-05T03:56:00.000-06:00

I know better than to do this but I spent all weekend engrossed in a very riveting 19th century novel: Jane Eyre. I was in a reading slump, having checked out numerous books at the library over the past few weeks but not feeling enchanted with any of them (except Kira Kira, by Cynthia Kadohata, which was beautiful but very depressing). I literally spent all of Saturday and Sunday on the couch with the Dover paperback edition in my hands and chips and salsa on the coffee table.

It's amazing that something written over 150 years ago can still be relevant and fun to read today. The storytelling was great, the prose flowery and old but not difficult to understand, and the characters very sympathetic and colorful. In other words, I totally loved it, and am looking forward to tracking down the Masterpiece Theatre DVD when it comes out (if it's not out already). I haven't read a really romantic story like that in ages, and it was very satisfying (if not bodice-ripping). In fact, the last "romantic" book I read (where you have to keep reading in order to find out if ill-fated lovers end up together in the end) was The Thorn Birds, which I read in the 8th grade over a period of about two days over Christmas break. It was a very steamy read and I always find it interesting that there are usually 10 or more copies at the Sister's annual book sale at CSC.

There's something to be said for cheesy romance novels, ones that are well-written anyway. I was able to escape my present life as a stressed-out graduate student and live the life of someone who could have been my great-great-great-great (great?) grandmother. Was this book considered high literature in its day? Or was this considered a Danielle Steelish novel of its time (I'm picturing victorian ladies pulling this book out of their embroidery bags and stealing a few forbidden moments with Mr. Rochester on the fainting couch).

Anyway, aside from wasting away a weekend reading, I've had a few celebrity encounters worth noting. A couple weeks ago Faith Ringgold came to our humble town and gave a lecture. It was wonderful and we snagged a few autographed posters afterwards. It seems that all famous artists dress the same--big chunky jewelry, drapey clothing, hair piled on top of their heads--but this look suited her, along with her big gold and black glasses.

Also, Libby Larsen came to our school as a guest composer and spent a day on Feb. 13th working with performers, giving a lecture, and talking with student composers, including little old me. I was fortunate enough to be able to accompany her (by myself!) to the student union to grab a coke and some snacks and really talk about music. The whole experience was truly amazing and surreal--the whole time I was thinking, "Libby Larsen is sitting directly across from me in the PUB and drinking a diet pepsi, among students milling about, eating tater tots, watching sports on the big t.v., and playing cheesy made-up new-agey songs on the piano downstairs in the lobby." Our conversation was amazing, and I would write it all down here, but there are too many wonderful things to say, so if you want to know more you must call or write. Suffice it to say, she is an amazing and energetic woman, who was neither condescending nor arrogant, and very friendly and eager to talk about my (and my fellow students') work. What I noticed most about her manner of speaking and her overall outlook and energy pertaining to art and music was this: where most people (including myself) question their artistic vision and say to themselves, "Oh, that's a stupid idea. It would be impossible to pull off," she says, "How much will it cost?" I thought that was the most amazing thing about her, and why she is a famous and successful composer. It never occurred to her not to do something.

One more thing: I added a new link to the right--Retro Research. Read it over the next few days because she will soon be abandoning her blog. I've always wanted to do something like this myself, and think that I might try a month-long internet/email/t.v. fast once I'm out of school.
Lately I've really been missing snail mail (I've lost some electronic letters because I've changed email addresses a few times in the past few years, and who thinks to print them out beforehand?). Also, I waste so much time on the internet and watching shows I don't even really like on t.v. Sigh.

A Valentine from Johnny Mathis

2007-02-13T00:08:00.000-06:00

Last night K and I went to see Johnny Mathis. If you don't know who that is, shame on you! Actually, we were probably the only ones there under the age of 60. All the wives dragged their husbands to the concert and made them wear sweater vests and comb their hair. During intermission two older gentlemen in front of us stood up to stretch their legs and joked they were going to stand for the rest of the concert. "You wouldn't mind, would you?" they asked us in a cute charming old man way. One of them said, "My wife would just tell me to sit down and shut up." It was very cute, this dynamic between persons from this generation, who probably conceived children to Johnny Mathis' crooning in the 50's and 60's.

The concert was amazing. He came out in a black tuxedo with bowtie, and opened up with that song from Willy Wonka ("if you want to view paradise, simply look around and view it....."). It was just him and the stringy-haired balding conductor/pianist, who played a lovely loungey piano. Then he launched into a Mancini medley with the orchestra (all wearing white tuxedos and lit only by music stand lights), then a medley of his most popular songs, including Chances Are and Misty. When he started a familiar song, two little old ladies sitting in front of us gasped and clutched each other's hands as if they were recalling a lovely moment. Then people would clap. It was like being on a Christopher Guest PBS special, but in a good, warm fuzzy way. I was totally into it and clapped along with them.

Later he did a Brazilian medley (he was very fond of these medleys with one song bleeding into another) where he sang a few Jobim songs in Portuguese, and closed the show with Brazil--a very spiffy upbeat version where they had a backround track of voices and the conductor/pianist was conducting and blowing a whistle at the same time and the orchestra was playing behind them and there was a brilliant light show. He got a standing ovation and came out and did two encores. He was very cute and a little shy, and very friendly and classy when addressing the audience. His voice hasn't changed much since the 50's, except he can't reach the high notes as well as he used to. But he still looks the same--dark skinned with a halo of dark wavy hair. I loved it all. It was very romantic.

It was fun to listen to reactions after the concert:
"They don't sing romantic music like that anymore, where you can understand the words."
"He still has all his hair."
"Isn't he in his 70's?"
"Unforgettable."
"Phenomenal.
"He's so elegant."

I first heard of Johnny when I was in high school. My favorite movie back then was "Chances Are," in which Robert Downey Jr. played Cybil Shepherd's reincarnated husband. In the movie, Cybil's character loves to listen to Johnny Mathis, so after I saw it, I rushed out to Wal-Mart and bought a casstte tape of his greatest hits, which included a disco version of "Begin the Beguine," and other sexy songs, one of which was called, "It doesn't have to hurt everytime."
(I regret to say, Kelly, that he did not sing this song). So started my obsession. Two summers ago I found a double-record set of his greatest hits from the 60's at this great record store that has since gone out of business. That July of 2005, I played it on our portable record player while my mom, aunt, Kelly, K and I sat on our porch drinking whiskey sours and Kokanees. I'll never forget Aunt Cookie swilling a beer and looking (mistily) off into the distance, saying, "This music just sends me......."

new year, new things

2007-01-17T01:44:00.001-06:00

I finally feel like I have some free time, since my load has lightened quite a bit. I'm only taking one class this quarter, which is a non-required class, and the rest of the week I'm teaching three students piano lessons, working one day a week at my retail job, and trying to compose and practice so I can graduate this June. However, I haven't been very productive so far this year in my creative work, which is no big surprise. I sleep in, laze around for awhile, eat lunch, then have to go off to work or class or lessons in the afternoon. To remedy this problem, I just found a new book that I am hoping will get me out of my procrastination habits. It's called The Now Habit, and so far, it's really great. It explains why people have a tendency to procrastinate on certain things, and methods for being more productive. I really only have three months to write some music for my recital, so I better get crackin' on these methods.

Other than trying to overcome procrastination for my new year's resolution, I'm also trying to get back into shape. I'm taking a beginning yoga class, which has been wonderful so far, but it's making me really sore. Everytime I go to class, I get the urge to move my body more, to take some dance classes again. I can't believe I have been putting off movement for so long. I feel so great after class, and I think it helps with anxiety/depression issues. So I think I might sign up for a dance class or try to do some swimming. I've also been rollerskating with some friends who are whizzes on the rink. They can skate backwards and do the limbo. This friday we're going again, for a benefit for the Lilac City Rollergirls--our very own rollergirl team. I'm half-tempted to join them, but I'm such a wuss--I worry about falling and breaking limbs and fingers.

As far as books go, I just finished The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. I really really liked it. It appealed to that side of me that loves historical mysteries and Eastern European folklore. I'm trying to find another good read, but it's so hard to find something after you've read a really great book. I did pick up the new short story collection by Haruki Murakami, which I'm really excited about. I'm also in my Nancy Drew phase again (happens every couple months) where I reread ones I've forgotten about. My collection is almost complete--I'm only missing a few volumes. The bookstore downtown has some used Tom Swift books--maybe I need to start a new collection.

Things I want to accomplish this year:
1. Be able to do the splits (and be in better health, in general)
2. Do some house repairs: paint, garden, new pictures for the walls, new couch....
3. My recital!!
4. Be able to play some polkas and waltzes on the accordion
5. Write some short stories
6. Do some crafting/art: Shibori? Leather tooling? Photography? Painting? Tatting?
7. Get really great at baking bread
8. Write letters! (hopefully on a vintage secretary desk I haven't found yet)
9. Read some of the classics
10. Explore some new places (small towns in NE and WA, Europe?)

Celebrity sightings!

2006-12-21T01:15:00.000-06:00

You may think Spokane is a boring, snore-inducing little town, but so far I have spotted three celebrities--two in the past week, and one last summer (Cuba Gooding Jr, wearing a nice white shirt and tie, standing in the doorway of his trailer, which was parked on a street downtown, which was, incidentally, on my way to work. He was filming some movie at the time, and when I walked by I was a little stunned and tempted to flash him, but I spotted some teenage girls standing there and drooling so I thought I'd save him from too much fan lust). Last week, I was on my lunch break in the cafe next to the bookstore in the building where I work, minding my own business, sipping some split pea soup and trying to read. I always take my glasses off when I read and/or eat, so I couldn't see the guy a few tables down who was laughing and talking loudly to a bookstore clerk. I kept looking over, because, you know, I was trying to focus on my reading, and he just wouldn't shut up. Then I realized who it was: Sherman Alexie. He was signing copies of his novels for the bookstore, where he usually gives readings when he's in town. He looks like such a regular guy that I'm always shocked when he's not in waist-length braids tied with feathers and wearing turquoise jewelry. I really was going to make a fool of myself and go talk to him as soon as I finished my soup, but he left before then. It's probably best that way--I'm sure he gets tired of fans coming up to him and saying how much they like his work, and that they're writers too, and would he look at something they wrote? Well, I wouldn't go that far........or would I.....? I was amazed though--he is one of my favorite writers--Jonis introduced one of his short stories to us in Intro to Creative Writing, and ever since then I've been a huge fan. Incidentally, on our trip to Portland a few days later, we stayed in the Sherman Alexie room in the Bluebird Guesthouse (which consisted of pumpkin-colored walls, vintage lamps, and black velvet paintings of wooded landscapes).

My third celebrity sighting was today, in my little store. This woman comes up to the counter and hands me a stack of Christmas puzzles and Deluxe Scrabble and wonders if we could hold them while she looks around some more. I look up and it's Julia Sweeney. Again, I'm surprised at how normal she looks--like she's just another housewife that lives in Spokane. I really don't know what I expected (fur coat? tiara?) but I couldn't believe she was one of the many Christmas shoppers in the store, probably buying the puzzles for her mother and the scrabble for a nephew. Anyway, I did make a fool of myself and asked if she was indeed Julia Sweeney, to which she looked down or away and said yes. I was immediately embarrassed that I asked her, because, of course she was Julia Sweeney, and she was probably worried I'd bring up my favorite sketches and start imitating them (which I would never ever do). To remedy the situation I asked her if she was from Spokane, to which she replied yes, that she comes here a few times a year to visit family. Then I shut up. I'm sure she hates stuff like that. But, I couldn't resist.

On a related note, just yesterday, K's coworkers dragged him to Santa's lap in the mall and made him sit on it so they could take a group picture. I guess they budged in front of Julia Sweeney in the line so they wouldn't be late for their P.F. Chang reservation at 11:15. K didn't realize who they were budging in front of, but today, a coworker revealed what they had done. So we both had indirectly made fools of ourselves to the same person within 24 hours of each other. Boy howdy.

I'm pulling my hair out now

2006-11-29T00:22:00.000-06:00

Sorry for the lapse in postings, but I have two final projects due tomorrow plus a truck-load of papers to grade, so check back on thursday or friday.

Too Hot for Vienna, ca. 1800

2006-11-21T12:14:00.000-06:00

I'm sure my students think I'm on crack.

Today in class I described Beethoven's music as being "sexy."
How else to describe it though?
I showed them a clip from Immortal Beloved--the part where Gary Oldman as Beethoven is playing Moonlight Sonata with his ear down on the piano. I'm having flashbacks to the year I lived with Kelly in Crandall Hall and our room was plastered with pictures of Gary Oldman and Daniel Day Lewis and Ralph Fiennes. We were obsessed with G.O's Beethoven and listened to the slow, pulsating (sexy) second movement of his 7th symphony over and over and smoked Galois cigarettes, as a sort of outlet for our mid-CSC-no boy-dilemma.

I played the Pathetique piano sonata for them in class on the stereo, along witht the Andante of the 7th symphony. Did I reach them? Did I make it clear to them just how sexy Beethoven's music is?

Am I being too creepy?

A Very Peevish and Bitchy Post

2006-11-20T18:57:00.000-06:00

I'm feeling very peevish.

This morning in orchestration class my professor couldn't understand why I hadn't included a brass section in my orchestration of Debussy's Et la lune descend sur le temple qui fut. I had explained why before (I like homogeneous groupings of instruments like all strings or all winds or all percussion or all brass--I have a hard time mixing them--like some people have a hard time mixing their peas with their mashed potatoes; also, this piece sounds very bell and gong-like--nothing too brassy or bright). Anyway, it just rubbed me the wrong way (seriously I can understand why he wanted me to include brass, but I get tired of explaining my artistic decisions to him--not that he's not artistic--and I sound like a total pretentious bey-otch here but I don't want any g-damn trumpets muddling up my gorgeous marimba/flute/string vibe I have going on here.

Also, I teach a counterpoint lesson on Monday afternoon to a student who is incorrigible (is that the right word? Or maybe I should just say damn annoying). I know I shouldn't talk about my students that way, but oh my god I'm so sick of him complaining about how counterpoint rules interfere with his genius compositional artistry (he's a freshman). "Why is a fourth dissonant? Why can't I use fourths on the downbeat? Why is it called a 'perfect' fifth? Why can't we use parallel fifths? I feel so restricted! I'm just going to write the most boring music then, to REBEL AGAINST SOMEONE WHO'S BEEN DEAD FOR 500 YEARS.
What. the. hell. I appreciate the curiosity, the questioning, but it really is a moot point isn't it? I can't explain why they didn't like fourths in the 16th century--they just didn't! So live with it! Anyway, I could go on and on but I can't tolerate inane, pointless, irrelevant questions. Some teachers say there is no such as a stupid question but I say there is! And could you not take up my time asking them? And to make it worse he was talking back and getting mad at me for correcting his improper use of dissonances. The point of all this bitching is that I'm sick of having to justify why composers made up rules for controlling dissonances back in the 16th century to a pretentious kid who can't wait to write a symphony and be famous.

I'm really starting to understand why this field is dominated by men. It requires complete and utter belief in your own compositional genius/prowess and the (biological?) need or want to show off that prowess. It also requires insane attention to detail and incredible, left-brained analytical skills. I'm not into any of this, although I know some women are. I really think that the tradition of writing art music down to be performed by professionals is becoming obsolete and irrelevant. General audiences don't care about this sort of music, and professionals don't want to play new music (generally speaking. It takes years to work up to that point. Or you have to go to Juilliard). I think the world needs new music, but not in this way. I think we need to go back to the old days where composers were more like tradesmen or public servants (none of this genius crap). They served a necessary purpose in society--to write new music for church or the court or dancing or street entertainment. It wasn't about this sense of entitlement (oh look at me! I wrote a symphony! I can't understand why no one wants to play it or listen to it). It was about serving their community. Granted, that life sucked in many ways and they weren't able to compose freely, but they were able to make livings as musicians. It really is no wonder that most people prefer to listen to Baroque, Classical, or Romantic music compared to twentieth-century music.

I think I'm done with my rant. But I still feel peevish. I felt peevish looking at the new issue of BUST (I love that mag but am getting kinda sick of so-called "alternative" culture). I'm mad because I lost a library CD (I can't find it anywhere!). I'm mad because I'm sick of school and students who come up with lame excuses for not turning in an assignment today ("I couldn't find the essay questions on the website!" Or "I left class before you wrote down the fourth question," or "I tried sending you an email last week but it didn't work so I'm turning this assignment in a week late because I don't know your office room number!" -----All of which are completely ridiculous. Everything is either posted on the website or on the syllabus). I'm also sick of French manicures (those icky girls who wear slutty expensive-looking clothes and for the life of them cannot go to the bookstore and buy a 3-dollar mini-stapler).

Yeah, sorry about that. What I need to do now is take a nap.

Sisley Huddleston is Such a Drip-- and How!

2006-11-19T02:16:00.000-06:00

I spent a lot of money today.

We made the mistake of going into a used bookstore and antique store after breakfast this morning. By the way, breakfast was had at Ferguson's Cafe--the restaurant in Benny and Joon where Ruthie (red-haired what's her name) worked as a waitress. Cool, huh!

I bought:
*2 Christmas records: Spokane's own Bing Crosby; and Kenny and Dolly
*A vintage young-adult book: Tom Swift and His Jetmarine
*A book entitled: Paris Salons, Cafes, Studios: by a man named Sisley Huddleston (printed in 1928). In the first few pages, there is an "epistle dedicatory" to W.L. Warden, Esq.
*A cool pink vintage lamp (with an attached bowl thingy in front. Is that for candy?)
*A vintage cocktail set: tall martini pitcher with 6 matching gold-striped martini glasses

I was naughty, but I only splurge on fun stuff a few times a year. So there!

Shut Up! I'm Trying to Compose!

2006-11-17T15:44:00.000-06:00

I've been so deliciously lazy lately.

I'm nearly done with my final projects (well, I'm over the hump at least) and have had these last two days off of school due to the music building being taken over by pimply high school jazz students for what is called "jazz dialogue." They take up every classroom, so boo-hoo--there is no teaching nor learning to be done for today (or yesterday). So, I've been sleeping in until noon (literally) because I've been working on about 5 hours of sleep a night. I feel a little hazy today and guilty for not getting up early, but I don't care. I'm going to work on my orchestration project and then walk downtown (I haven't really "exercised" since the wisdom teeth came out on Sept. 1). Then I'm going to watch a movie (feeling an Amelie itch) and play around on the piano (what other people call "composing." If I call it that I feel like I have to write something brillilant).

Other than being lazy, here's what else I've been up to:

1. Watching the Frontline episode about the Jim West debachle (by the way: oh my god. The whole thing, including Frontline's selective coverage, was very f' ed up).

2. After that, PBS re-aired one of my favorite Independent Lens shows. It's called, "A Touch of Greatness," and is about this elementary school teacher from NY, who, in the sixties, had his 5th grade students put on plays by Shakespeare and Shaw, and had spelling bee races, and designed a classroom atmosphere in which active learning (doing) took place instead of passive learning (read John Holt--see below). I love this show and lament that teachers cannot get away with this sort of thing today because of all the ridiculous standards and tests and political correctness. I'm sure this is on Netflix--you must see it if you have any interest in education.

3. Because I watched this documentary, I'm on another John Holt/education kick. I'm skimming through these books (I don't really have time to read for pleasure yet):

"Instead of Education."
"Freedom and Beyond." (both by John Holt)

I'm also looking at these books:

"What Does it Mean to be Well Educated?" by Alfie Kohn
"What's College For? The Struggle to Define American Higher Education" by Zachary Karabell
"How Popular Musicians Learn" by Lucy Green
"Musiking: The Meanings of Listening and Performing" by Christopher Small

I think by reading all of these I should get an honorary P.H. D, or as Kelly calls it, a P.H. Me.

4. I've been sleeping in lately because I missed out on sleep on Tuesday night, when a friend of ours called, inviting us over for a midnight birthday celebration. It was great--we had just finished watching "Art School Confidential" (which was weird and disappointing) and drove over to J's apartment in our old neighborhood. We put on some Mardi Gras beads, ate some carrot cake, played mad-libs (haven't done that since 6th grade! They didn't believe me when I said "fusty" was a word. It is indeed a word and means "fogyish, or old-fashioned." It also means "smelling of mildew or decay."), and set off some bottlerockets in the middle of the street. Incidentally, the young German composer of the Spokane Symphony lives in a condo next door (how do I know this? I'm too embarrassed to tell you. No no it's nothing like THAT). We joked that we might disturb him from his music practicing by setting off the rockets (he has a baby grand--I saw him practicing through the first-floor window). Imagine K mocking the conductor in his best German accent: "Shut up! I'm trying to compose!" God, that was funny.

The Sentimental Value of Hot Dogs, Xanadu, and Amadeus

2006-11-16T01:44:00.000-06:00

As I was looking across the sea of bored faces in my humanities class this morning, I wondered if it's harder for people to appreciate classical music if they haven't been brought up with it. I was thinking about one of my favorite movies, Xanadu (one of two movies I own--the other one is Breakfast at Tiffany's--both on VHS) and how people either love or hate that movie, depending on if they saw it as a child. I remember watching it on t.v. when I was in first or second grade and thinking I heard my name in that song Olivia Newton John sings when she's roller skating around that empty auditorium (I think it's called, "Magic," and when she sings the word, "survive," it sounds like she's saying my name). I rediscovered that movie in college, when I happened to be working in the paint shop with two other girls who also loved that movie as kids. One of the girls owned it and during our lunch breaks we'd drive to Dairy Queen for 50 cent hot dogs and go back to her apartment and watch that movie (we were a little liberal with our lunch breaks). We felt like we were triplets separated at birth, because it's difficult to find other people who love that movie (it's really pretty cheesy).

Anyway, I've been having the students do little presentations on Romantic period composers where they share some biographical information and bring some listening examples for the whole class to hear. The group today brought in some Bruckner, who wrote some gorgeous symphonies. We listened to a few minutes of one, and I while it was playing I realized that this music could really sound boring to people who haven't listened to classical music before at home as children or teenagers. They're used to classical music being elevator music, or something they study to, or something they hear on commercials or movie scores--always background music, if they notice it at all. They recognized Wagner's Ride of the Valkries (sp?) and Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet because these themes have been used numerous times in commercials or cartoons. But when it comes to something that's unfamiliar to them like a Bruckner or Mendelssohn symphony, they automatically tune out and their eyes glaze over and they start chatting and rustling papers and coughing. It's almost like a Pavlovian response: an unfamiliar orchestral piece comes on over the speakers and they start drooling (or dozing or coughing or sighing with boredom).

I think I really love classical music because it has sentimental value for me. When I was a kid mom had the Amadeus soundtrack on cassette tape, and for a period of a few years, that's all we listened to at home. It was Mozart, 24/7. I remember specific instances. I was in third grade and we were living in Grand Island, NE in a small apartment building. I knew we must have been poor because the carpet was ugly and brown and I had to wear hand-me-down clothes from my cousins, and we didn't have a piano, so I was not able to take piano lessons like I wanted. Instead, the carpet served as my keyboard. I knew the Concerto for Two Pianos inside and out, and would sit on the floor and pound out all of the notes, convinced I could play it for real if a piano materialized in front of me. I also remember putting together a terrarium for a science fair project and singing along to Don Giovanni.

Now, whenever I listen to the Amadeus soundtrack, which is on my iPod, I am instantly taken back to that time when Mozart helped us get through a tough time. I know the order of the songs, and I can sing them by heart. But unless my students have experienced a similar scenario where music was played at home, I doubt they can connect with the music in the way that I can. That music is written in an old and outdated language they don't understand. It sounds completely different from Tupac or Alicia Keys or Britney Spears or Vince Gill, songs of which last a few short minutes with catchy and provocative lyrics and flashy guitar riffs or techno beats to keep them dancing or singing along. Classical music, on the other hand, requires a long attention span, deep listening skills, and a comfortable chair to hear all the nuances and subtle orchestral effects. It takes time to absorb a piece--it doesn't offer instant gratification like popular music. And for them to be exposed to classical music for the first time in a big, fluorescent-lighted, concrete-walled, no windowed, bland white dirty choir room with no comfortable desks or chairs to sit in--it's no wonder they space out and text-message their friends during class. I would probably do the same if I were in their shoes.

There has been no precedent set for them--no reason for them to consider music written by "dead white guys" hundreds of years ago. Classical music is something rich old people listen to. What could it possibly have to do with their lives? The fact that it is beautiful is not enough. They have no point of reference, or sentimental attachment. I honestly can't think of a reason they should listen to classical music or attend symphony concerts, other than transparent arguments that it makes them more "cultured," or because it's beautiful, or it feels satisfying to listen to. They've already got their music that feels satisfying to them.

I feel like I have to sell them on classical music before the end of the quarter on Dec. 1. How will I do it? Is it possible? Should this be the purpose of the class or should they be allowed to sit there bored out of their minds, making a few chicken scratches in their notebooks as I lecture about the difference between a fugue and a toccata, or what sonata form is? Should I care that they don't care?

Miscellaneous (did I spell that right?)

2006-11-13T01:09:00.000-06:00

Nothing to report. Must go to bed. Here's a few freebies:

I'm reading Citizen Vince by Jess Walter (local author) and will start reading The Highest Tide by Jim Lynch after that.

Quelf is a fun game.

I learned how to say "I dance like an elephant," in Russian, last night at a party.

I want to have a "Sixteen Candles" 30th birthday party where one would find t.p.'ed trees and pizzas on the turn table and Anthony Michael Hall trapped underneath the coffee table.

After I graduate I'm planning on playing in a rock band, a small Baroque ensemble, a cafe-accordion duo with a singer, a Klezmer/Eastern European ethnic ensemble, and a contemporary music ensemble.

The process of de-institutionalization starts now

2006-11-11T14:48:00.000-06:00

Last night I saw a great band at Whitworth College--Norfolk and Western from Portland. They played here last spring, and I got a chance to talk to their girl drummer. She teaches at the Rock n' Roll camp for girls (Portland, every summer. They even have a rock camp for women too), and painted a cute crow beating a drum on her kick drum. The band is really cool--there's a lead singer/guitarist, bass guitar/2nd guitar, drummer, and guy who plays violin, banjo, guitar, bass, theremin and musical saw. Totally great sound and live band. I went to see it with my future band members (friend T, and K) and we decided that I will be the multi-instrumentalist. T has a viola, which I hope to learn promptly (either that or I will rent/buy a cello!). We already have two accordions, keyboards that make helicopter sounds and samba beats, two guitars, two banana shakers and two harmonicas. I think we'll be making a trip to the hardware store for misc. percussion and saw parts. Anyway, I think being in a band will be a good way to de-institutionalize myself after I graduate. I've had all I can take of teaching millenials and being taught by overworked and jaded professors.

Things that make me weep

2006-11-09T14:52:00.000-06:00

I'm sitting here at school, on my lunch break, listening to Vivaldi and reading some of Kate DiCamillo's online journal entries (there is a link to the right). Damn! Her entries are making me weep. And by weep I don't mean gushing heart-wrenching tears but enough moisture balling up at the ends of my eyelashes to make me want to dab my eyes politely with a lacy hankerchief.

So I've been thinking of other things that make me weep:

1. The opening credits and music from Anne of Green Gables
2. The opening credits of Disney's Beauty and the Beast
3. Vivaldi's Summer and Winter (this also makes me feel punk rock, if you know what I mean).
4. Cather's My Antonia
5. Gillian Welch's Orphan Girl
6. The ending sequence of American Beauty (I wailed, not wept, for 2 hours afterwards).
7. Cafe Latte's Raspberry Cream Torte or Grandma B's buttermilk chocolate sheet cake
8. Playing Katherine Hoover's Winter Spirits on flute
9. The choral version of Barber's Adagio done by the Dale Warland Singers
10.That one aria from Turandot I can't remember the name of but it is sung by a tenor.
11.Any opening or ending movie sequence with gorgeous music
12.Rachels' Music for Egon Schiele.
13.Greg Brown's Spring Wind
14.When the Mutts cartoon does its shelter stories

Sometimes when I'm singing in the car along with a song I'll choke up for no reason (or maybe there is a reason: a beautiful chord progression or lyric?) and won't be able to sing for awhile. Does this happen to you or am I a weirdo?

Be-wigged Vivaldi Beauties

2006-11-09T02:02:00.000-06:00

Boy, I'm glad I didn't send that email to my composition prof. After I wrote that I went downstairs and played some of my parlor music from the 20's on the upright piano ("I Would! If I Could! But I Can't! Why? Because I'm Married Now" is the actual title of the piece). From there I started messing around and came up with a beginning to my women's choir piece, which is based on the Fontbonne Pool at CSC. I'm hoping it could eventually be sung by the CSC choir in the actual pool. That's my dream. If you don't know about this obsession, ask me about it sometime.

Anyway, I've been into Baroque music lately because I've been discussing this period with my humanities students. I remember a Rick Steves episode where he goes to watch a concert of a period-costumed and be-wigged all female Vivaldi chamber orchestra. That's my dream! To play in that orchestra. But I have to learn how to play a string instrument--I'm thinking cello or viola because everyone plays violin. I also showed my class snippets from Monteverdi's Orfeo opera, and the music is really gorgeous for that time (1607!).

Also new: I discovered that a classmate of mine is fluent in Spanish--she studied abroad in high school--and wants to get together and practice her Spanish, so I think I might try and pick it up again (took 4 years in high school). She loaned me some books and DVDs so maybe I'll be writing my next post en Espanol.

Warning: Intensely Personal and Embarrassing Blog Entry

2006-11-08T00:28:00.000-06:00

Can I get something off my chest (in other words, this entry will be good therapy for me, but boring for you)? Even if it's intensely personal and somewhat embarrassing?

All day, I've been crafting a letter in my head to my composition professor, which would explain why I've only composed 3 pieces since I've been in grad school (since January 2004). This was all sparked by two things: and impending composition lesson tomorrow in which I have nothing done (again), and, seeing how much my fellow students are composing in a composition seminar today.

Here's what I've got so far:

Dear Dr. ______,

I'm not sure why I haven't been setting time aside to work on my composition projects, but yet again I have nothing to show you for tomorrow. However, I have a couple theories, which might explain my behavior.

1. I need lots of physical and mental space to feel safe enough to create. As you know I have two large humanities classes to take care of, and every moment of my day is taken up with lesson planning, grading, maintaining the class website, and thinking about how to make my class better, how to make my students care, and what to do with students who turn in late papers and "forget" to do their presentations. In some ways I don't think it's quite fair to throw grad students into teaching when they have their own classes and grades and papers to think about, no teaching assistants to help with grading and photo-copying, and no guidance whatsoever on how to even teach material I don't know well to a large class of 50 non-music major freshmen. Besides this, I have a large orchestration project that's due on Nov. 15, a piano pedagogy project that's due on the 29th, a women's choir piece to write by Dec. 1, plus misc. minor things that still take time, such as working part time while attending school. As you can see, I have no mental space for the creation of musical works. My brain is all used up and I have trouble remembering which key opens my front door, what the copy code is at school, and where I put my chapstick. As far as physical space, I have a nice piano in the dining room, but there is no privacy there. It is just a few feet away from the television. That was the only place to put the piano--it is the only inside wall downstairs.

2. I don't compose as prolifically as my fellow grad students because I don't have the same strong music background as they do. Both of them have been composing and performing for a long time and both have undergraduate degrees in composition. My b.a. is in art education. What classes in my past life have prepared me to write abstract sounds down into a concrete form? The last theory and ear-training classes I had were in 1997. My friends already have craft. I am still at the first step and need to gear up to write something down. It's like I'm trying to write a novel in Russian when I only know three words in the language: cat, pencil, and battery. There's only so many variations on these three words. Also, I know my colleagues have as little time as I do (one of them has 3 kids! The other one has numerous performing and teaching gigs), but they can just sit down and spew out music in a few hours. I'm not to that point yet.

3. Do I really want to write music down? I think one of my problems is motivation. My primary musical interests lie in the education, therapy, and ethnomusicology realms. did I choose the wrong major? Aren't there enough contemporary art music composers out there? How much quasi-tonal "woo-woo, pluck-pluck" postmodernism can the American concert audience take? Should music even be written down anymore, now that we have highly advanced recording equipment? Besides, a score is not music--it is a picture of music. Real music exists in space. The pieces I would write (and spend hours on!) would only exist in space for a few minutes and then get dusty in some drawer or on a shelf in a forgotten section of the library. Does contemporary art music help anyone? Does anyone care?

4. If I really liked composing, wouldn't I just do it and stop whining about it? Some composer said on a blog I read recently: Self-discipline is a natural trait for composers because they want to spend as much time creating as possible. Or something like that--I don't have it quite right, but you get the idea. I'm afraid self-discipline has never been one of my strong suits, even though I enjoy creating in a language I'm familiar with. As a fourth grader it was so easy to sit on my bed and write short stories or make up fashion designs in my sketchbook. I never analyzed what I was doing--I just did it and it didn't seem like work at all. I was just playing. I like the playing around part of composition, but I don't like the more analytical, detailed work that goes into editing and refining. I loose interest by then. I am by nature what Barbara Sher calls a "scanner." So the question is, do I go against my own nature or try to shape it and change my habits?

--------

and so on.

Blah blah blah, I'm so whiny! But these are questions I struggle with everyday. I want to get out of school and get on with my life.

Too much, too little, too late (hey, that's a 70's era Johnny Mathis song!)

2006-11-07T00:47:00.000-06:00

I totally agree with Gintastic on the warm fuzzies one gets with this sisterhood of interbloguality. It's a fun experiment. If I can stick with this for a month, they say it takes 21 days to change a habit, so maybe the writing habit will stay with me....

Anyway, can't blog too much right now. I just got home from a (pathetic) composer's concert (we only had 3 pieces on it) and now I have to preview some Baroque operas to pick out some clips to show my students. I'll also be showing a clip from "Farinelli," that movie about a castrato. Hopefully they'll find these somewhat interesting, although sometimes I feel I have to be as entertaining as Robin Williams in Dead Poet's Society to keep them from falling asleep or playing solitaire on their laptops. Seriously! They expect so much out of me and I can't give it too them. I'm about ready to throw in the towel and just say, you know what? We're just going to watch Amadeus and Immortal Beloved and Impromptu and eat popcorn for class. None of this trying to care if they learn about classical music crap. They're all visual learners these days anyway, right? Is there a Mozart video game out there? Gee, look at me, I'm already jaded and I'm not even a real professor! Ha!

On a more upbeat note, Sammy Davis Jr. was on Charlie's Angles tonight and played two characters, one of which owned a chain of liquor stores and dressed like a pimp with very poor fashion sense (a long long blue plaid suit jacket with matching pants and red shoes). I only caught the last 30 minutes or so but that sure made my night. By the way, I've been noticing strange parallels between Nancy Drew and Charlie's Angels. I think this might be another topic for another blog...

Blue-hairs singing 4-part harmony in church! Just imagine!

2006-11-05T23:05:00.000-06:00

I'm listening to a new record right now: The Carter Family--I Walk the Line. On the cover is a picture of the four ladies (June, Anita, Mother Maybelle and what's the fourth one's name?)in blue and white striped scoop-necked 60s party dresses and bouffanted hairdos. K found it at Value Village today. I am listening to it on my portable vintage record player (thanks Jen!)on top of K's new amp.

Yes, K is playing music again. Our friend T wants to start a band and wants K for backup guitar and bass. I would play misc. instruments. K's been practicing electric guitar for an upcoming show that T will do this coming thursday. K's really quite good. When I first met him he would play a six-stringed blues guitar while laying on his twin bed. He also had an acoustic 12-string and an electric guitar and would jam with the guys he lived with in his first apartment in Minneapolis. When we moved to Eugene and he started going to grad school he sold his amps and guitars--all except the electric guitar. I tried to talk him out of it--what if he wanted to play again someday? It was the end of an era in a way, and I couldn't understand why he couldn't be a journalist and play music (at the same time!). Well, we were also poor and had to eat and selling the miscellaneous instruments made sense.

But it's so cool to see him jamming again--just like old times. On a related note, we (my family and I) gave my stepdad a guitar for his 51st b-day just last week. Last year he bought himself a harmonica, so we figured he would like to branch out a little and try something we could always see him playing. He has a deep Johnny Cash voice and with a couple chords under his fingers he could totally have a Cash cover band. People in NE would go apeshit for that. But I guess he's psyching himself out about learning it--and is putting off lessons. I think this is a symptom of a sickness that's plaguing America--a musical sickness. Yeah, that sounds cheesy but here's the thing: there are billions of bad music teachers out there that tell people they have no musical talent, can't sing, and can't dance. I think everyone can say they've had a bad music teacher at one point in time. Those harsh words stay with people--it's like a bad seed that's been planted--and from then on people swear off music forever. I have an aunt who never sings--not even in the car--because some mean nun in the 50's told her she was a terrible singer. It's really sad. That's one of the reasons why our culture is so musically underdeveloped, in terms of amateur vernacular musicking. We need more people playing guitar and piano and dulcimer and fiddle at home for their families and on the street corner. We need people to sing four-part harmony in church. We need people to dance more. I think people forget that humans are inherently musical (if you can talk you can sing, if you can walk you can dance) and that musicking does not mean playing dead-white guy Western art music, and most of all that music is supposed to be fun. Anyway, that's my soapbox speech for the evening.

Yesterday I got the opportunity to play Tibetan singing bowls. You hold them in your hand and rub a wooden stick around the edge (the set looks kinda like a metal mortar and pestle) which sets them vibrating and emitting this other-worldly hum, like wine glasses. The vibrations actually feel really good. They're supposed to affect your chakras or something new-agey like that but they really are relaxing and beautiful-sounding. We're playing them in a composition concert tomorrow night. Maybe I'll save some money and buy a set and open a vibrational healing shop. Kelly could read tarot and Gintastic could bake some ginger wheatgrass cookies and we'll dress like hippies and make a fortune! It'll be great.

Bachelor Flats

2006-11-04T22:53:00.000-06:00

I'm not even sure where to begin.

I had the most surreal experience today. The backstory is this: this rich old lady donated 100,000 dollars to our music department, and in her honor, her neighbor, a rich old man, threw a party for her for donating the money, and for himself for throwing the party. They wanted some students and professors from our school to play some chamber music for their soiree, so I played accordion in a trio a fellow composer friend wrote. There was a little program made up, and whomever put them together listed me as "Zamina, accordian." They forgot to include my last name, so it looked like I was trying to be Madonna or Prince or something. My classmates and a few profs that were there thought that was pretty funny and gave me hell for it. So we played our piece, and the two profs that were there, a married couple, played some bassoon and cello duets, and a student soprano in a fancy dress sang Schubert's Ave Maria along with a student accompanist (also in a fancy dress). It was very Anne of Green Gables all of a sudden, where they are staying with that rich lady and she takes Diana and Anne to see this opera singer singing for a similar soiree. It was all very 19th century salon-ish. We played on an open second-floor landing near a mahogany baby grand piano and a victorian-style floor lamp with tulip-shaped glass bulbs. A dean of the college asked to touch my accordian. I think she was really into it.

This is one layer.

This is another layer: when you walk in this house (which was in a gated community on the South Hill--a very well-to-do area of town, which has marvelous views of Spokane), first you see the marble floor and oriental rugs. Then you look up and see massive amounts of blue plates hanging on the dining room wall. Then you see shining crystal goblets, vases that look old and valuable (from the Ming Dynasty?), Asian sculptures, crystal chandaliers, tapestries, and Queen Anne style chairs covered in shiny navy brocaded fabric. There is so much to see that your eyes can only focus on one thing at a time. Gradually everything becomes more clear as you adapt to the lavish surroundings. You start noticing more things: a wall devoted to Renaissance-era religious art in huge gilded frames, an ornate Asian-style china cubbord filled with small jade and ivory and brass Buddhas that you would expect to see in the Chicago Institute of Art, Japanese scrolls, Chinese brush paintings, crystal-baubled wall sconces. You walk downstairs and see what looks like ornate wooden doors from a 10th century Chinese noble's house, attatched to the wall. You see big oil paintings with cowboy-western themes, and a bar filled with booze and decorated with models of vintage cars and hot-wheels in their original packaging. In the corner you spy a voo-doo walking stick with what appears to be real human hair tufting out of the top, and an animal's brushy tail hanging on the wall next to the ornately carved dark-brown stick. There is not one surface of wall left uncovered in the upstairs or downstairs areas or the in-between areas. There are collections of glass, crystal, plates, figurines, miniature paintings, large paintings, and so on and so forth. You wonder how one person has collected so much art, and how much that vase on the pedestal costs (50,000 dollars?). You imagine the crew of Antiques Roadshow running through the house and shrieking orgasmically. You feel sorry for the maids who have to dust and vacuum this house. Your first thought upon walking into the house was one of complete and utter shock: someone actually lives like this? Your second or third thoughts might be: how much is this man really worth, and how can he live like this when people can't afford food and healthcare and education?

Imagine me, walking around with a crystal glass of Chardonnay in my hand, peering at the art as if I were at the MIA or the Smithsonian, and trying to mingle with old rich people; chatting with my fellow music friends, feeling underdressed (a dark denim skirt, black-grey argyle tights, black flats, tan corduroy western-style fitted jacket, dark blue and black scarf decorated with piano keys and treble clefs) while men sport ties and suit jackets, and the women wear heels and pearls (I had no idea it was dressy dressy). Upon hearing of the real animal tail hanging on the wall, the associate conductor of the Spokane Symphony and I rush down to the equally ornate lower level to find it, like little kids who are exploring the professor's house in the Narnia series. I think surreal and pompous and lavish and over-the-top are the operative words here. But what shocked me more than the expensive art collection was the strange juxtaposition between high and low art: in front of the fireplace sat a collection of homemade felt mice-dolls in bonnets and pioneer-style prairie dresses with those cheap-looking wire frames one finds at Hobby Lobby perched on their noses. The backdrop for the dolls was a medieval-looking worn tapestry hanging from a brass rod. Similarly, two church-bazaar-looking crocheted pandas sat atop a black antique jewelry box (or was it a radio? I can't remember. But it was old and expensive-looking). Tom Clancy paperbacks were peppered throughout the house, next to gold figurines from Thailand. Miniature asian sculptures and colored glass grapes sat upon a huge flatscreen t.v. A cheap-looking robin's egg blue velour couch, complete with needle-pointed pillows, was placed below the exquisite collection of religious Renaissance art. The more I looked, the more I realized the place was badly decorated. Objects and paintings were just thrown around with no sense of aesthetic placement. You'd think for how rich this guy is that he could afford an interior designer who could inject a little feng shui into the house. It's all so misleading at first: the expensive-looking ancient art and crystal collection throws you off-guard and makes you believe for a while you're in the most exquisite palace when really it's just a new house with flat white walls and vinyl windows and dark-stained wood details to make it look fancier than it really is. I do have to admit that the view was gorgeous, though. And tonight Spokane was all misty and navy blue with rain.

Other notable things: apparently this professor (he really was a retired professor) had almost married the daughter of the Shah of Egypt (or was it Iran?). Apparently.

I was afraid to sit on the fancy-looking brocaded silk chairs, so I stood the whole time. I drank decaf out of a gold-rimmed china cup, which I almost knocked over while laughing.

The upstairs bathroom was filled with some woman's beauty products (Mary Kay?) and electric roller set. I thought this 80's something guy was single. He called his place, Bachelor Flats. "Have a look around Bachelor Flats," he says.

January 4, 1989, apparently

2006-11-04T01:56:00.000-06:00

On an electronic sign outside of a strip mall by our house it tells us that it is January 4, 1989.

I forgot to mention that yesterday was our first snow of the season. I was driving to a piano lesson and had to turn my iPod to Vince Guaraldi's "Christmastime is Here" song. I find myself listening to that song a lot--even during the summer. It's a good song to play when you're feeling bored/down/wistful--all at the same time.

Today we had a plumming disaster. Poor K woke up with a stomach bug and had to deal with it on his own while I was trying to deliver a lecture on secular Renaissance music to a room full of bored, chit-chatty students. However one of my students gave me a chocolate bear with a red heart. I spent the better part of the evening making sure our sink was cloroxed out enough to wash dishes in it. K is still sick but feeling better. After I cleaned the house I ran to the grocery store for the second time today to pick up some 7-up, spaghetti-o's and chocolate pudding per K's request (I think his stomach is feeling better....) and in the cleaning products aisle John Lennon's "Woman" came on over the loud speakers. That song always makes me happy for some reason, as if I heard it in the womb and I'm remembering something lovely and distant.

The Cowboy Bus Driver

2006-11-03T00:52:00.000-06:00

I realized this morning that my morning bus driver looks like he belongs more on a horse on a ranch in Wyoming than driving a city bus in Spokane. He kinda looks like Paul Newman and could totally be an actor playing a cowboy in some Hollywood western. So from now on I'm going to imagine that he's wearing a cowboy hat and a denim shirt and holding a lasso. As he's driving the bus. Just for fun.

Today I looked at Askaninja.com. Bored at work? Check it out. Sorry, I'm too lazy to provide a link.

Today I introduced my one piano/art student to watercolors. He's a 13-year old homeschooler who is very polite and will probably grow up to look like Kevin from The Office (but not as fat). I swear they have the exact same mannerisms and laugh. Anyway, he was worried about spilling paint and water on the carpet downstairs so we painted upstairs. I noticed that he was very meticulous with his watercolor cakes, cleaning them off with paper towels so the colors didn't muddy from mixing and double-dipping. He says please and thank you a lot. For all our carefulness I ended up spilling water all over their counter and nice hardwood floor. Of course they didn't mind--they are very nice people from Crawford NE, and the mother gave me a recipe for Runza Casserole. If you don't know what a runza is you must find out. Anyway, we commisserated on how no one outside of NE understands the beauty of this particular food. It's nice to know people like that. People who understand NE instead of saying, "Oh it's that really boring flat state, isn't it?"

the anti-school school

2006-11-01T22:34:00.000-06:00

I'm going to try this blog everyday thing for the month of November. It sounds like a fun challenge. This is also the home stretch to the end of the quarter so we'll see how well I hold out. I'm pretty excited because the last day of graduate school classes ever (ever! well, at least here) coincide with my 30th b-day on Dec. 1. You can all bet I'll be drinking heavily that night to celebrate.

Today started out pretty well. I woke up half an hour before my alarm, which gave me time to finish an assignment I had procrastinated on all week. On the bus I read an article about the musical brain (for my piano pedagogy class) that said everyone is born with some capacity for music and music-making, and it also said that people are subconsciously drawn to music that mimics proportions in nature. This nature idea was later brought up in class, but in a more round-about way. We were discussing how it is better, in performance to have correct rhythm than correct pitches, because uneven and unsure rhythm makes us feel nervous. This led to speculations about the rhythms of nature, i.e. the regularity of our own heartbeats and a predilection for even, steady rhythms. Then a classmate interjected by saying that she has an uneven heartbeat, and does this tie in with her inablity to keep a steady pulse while playing piano? Someone else mentioned that if you put two old-fashioned metronomes together, on the same speed but start them at different times, that their beats will eventually synchronize. Very deep thoughts for a wednesday afternoon, but it's all pretty fascinating if you think about it. I'll have to try the metronome experiment sometime and get back to you.

More drama in the classroom. I posted, on my class website, that I was concerned with their grammar skills and tendency towards plagiarism. I got an annonymous comment from a student who was appalled that I didn't state this policy in my syllabus and how could I possibly grade down for that? So I wrote back that it goes without saying that whatever written work you turn in for school needs to be at least somewhat grammatically polished and not copied from another author. I haven't heard back yet, but hopefully they get it now. It's so frustrating. I see why they're frustrated. High school did not prepare them to be good writers and thinkers, but plagiarism? My god, K was just telling me that in 3rd grade he learned what plagiarism was because he had copied an oral report out of an encyclopedia. Am I being too mean to these students? Am I asking too much?

Along these lines I'm currently reading a book called, "What's College For?" and in it the author mentions that today's college students feel entitled to receive A's and pass classes just because they pay tuition. It's a business venture--I pay you, you give me a degree. This may be one of the reasons college today is dumbed down--deans feel pressured by parents and students to ease the load so the college can continue to operate and keep their enrollment high. This is probably a gross oversimplification, and there are definitely other factors involved, but this book is really fascinating and makes me see higher education in a whole new light. It is really a business--it has nothing to do with learning or education at all. On the other side of this all, I've been enjoying teaching because it makes me mad and makes me want to do something about it, but can I really go through the bullshit of another graduate degree just to teach a subject to students that feel a sense of entitlement, who don't care about the subject, who work full-time jobs (because they can't afford to go to school AND feed their families or pay rent), who are visual learners instead of aural learners--who would rather sleep or chit-chat in class or watch a video or play solitaire on their laptops or listen to their iPods with one ear-bud in their left ear (all happened)---and the worst part of it all is that I understand because I am a student and I've been in painfully awful classes and seen ineffective teaching. Well, I hope I'm not too terrible of a teacher, but I can't be worse than some profs. But how do you teach a large lecture class that meets everyday a subject like music history where the only option is to give boring lectures everyday because no one reads the textbook (which I didn't pick out by the way--it's embarrassingly dumbed down--large pictures, containing over-simplified and sometimes incorrect music-historical information). There is no opportunity for active learning, deep listening, or intense engagement when people are worried about their next paycheck, or they're sleeping because how does Renaissance polyphony relate to Alicia Keys and Tupac? You can't teach someone who doesn't want to learn, and feels entitled to receive an A just because they paid tuition. Out of a 50-something class, only 20 have been showing up. How can I not care about that? How can I keep going when I know they don't care no matter how hard I try?

I want to work in the field of education, but it's all so messed up. I think I'm going to start my own school: the anti-school school where you pick out a few subjects you want to study, and you read about them on your own, and you make robots and puppets and go on field trips to learn about dairy farms and talk about current events and put on skits. This is actually what it was like in "gifted" class in 5th grade (I hate that word because everyone is "gifted" in some way). Why can't school be like that?

Spooky Spookane

2006-10-30T20:45:00.000-06:00

Hey kids, I added some new links. Colon cancer sucks ass is the blog of a friend of mine who was diagnosed with cancer last year. Remi 1000 is the blog of a friend of ours who writes random stuff about Spokane (I just about wrote Spookane. Perfect for Halloween). Taste Everything Once is the significant other of Remi 1000 and her blog is all about food and has some great recipes and food links on it.

As for me--same old school stuff. Getting mad at my students, at the state of education, at their inability to write and think and my inability to really do something about it. It really is disheartening when you assign a simple project (find an article about music in the NYTimes and write a summary/reflection on it) and it comes back with the article hand-copied by the student with no citations or source or summary or reflection. How do these people graduate from high school?

I'm happy tomorrow is Halloween--my all-time favorite holiday. Unfortunately I'll be working so I won't get to greet the cute little kiddies in their ballerina and sponge-bob costumes at our new door. We were hatching a plan where I'd answer the door, and while the kids were standing there, K would pop out of a garbage can and scare them. Although that might be a long time to wait in a smelly cold garbage can.

Seen any ectoplasm lately?

2006-10-13T18:24:00.000-05:00

So, I've been spending the afternoon blogging instead of doing homework, but I need a break from the relentlessness of assignments and class-planning. I have two school-related blogs: one for my humanities class, and another one for our composer's group. They seem to be working well, although it's hard to tell how many students are looking at them. I post assignments and misc. announcements on them instead of using blackboard. Anyway, if you're reading this, forgive my long absence, but school has been crazy and I barely have time to sleep let alone write. But I've been realizing that my writing has really sucked lately in school papers, and unless you exercise that writing muscle, you kind of lose it, so in a way I am doing homework right now....

My humanities class is going fairly well. I am the teacher of 117 students, and so far it's been interesting to say the least. I'm not used to huge lecture classes, and miss the intimacy of small CSC classes. It's hard to keep track of attendance and participation when you don't know everyone's name (although I know a good 90% of their names). But on any given day only 30 out of 55 show up, so I guess it's not too bad. I have to keep reminding myself to stay detatched--to not care too much if they miss class or don't turn in assignments. There are a few kids that are really cool though and they make up for the less-interested ones. I showed the documentary about Evelyn Glennie called, "Touch the Sound," and after viewing it, one student came up to me and said it made her want to do something with her life. Amazing! That's exactly the response I wanted from that film, because I felt the same way after I saw it. Another student emailed me and told me I am the only prof of his this quarter that is actually teaching something passionately. I'm not bragging (okay maybe I am a little...) but isn't that sad? That the other profs are that apathetic about their subjects? I've also had students bring me coffee and mixed CD's (hoping for instant A's?), and been given gifts by a retired music professor (from my school) who happened to pop into my first class on the first day and ask if I was Dr. J.E. I told him who I was (a grad student studying composition), and since then he's tracked me down to donate used 3-ring binders for my students, 2 humanities-related books from his personal collection (which he's gradually donating to the library and music school), and a free ticket for a symphony concert tonight (he wants to discuss my reactions to a contemporary piece called, "Damn," which is on the program tonight). I was flabbergasted by this man's kindness, and also his never-ending interest in the musical development of music students. He used to be the chair of our music program and is a font of musical wisdom. The other day our piano pedagogy class met at Starbucks and he just happened to be there buying coffee beans (apparently he has stock in Starbucks). He spied all the piano books strewn across our table and asked us what class we were taking. He then asked if we were piano majors, and proceeded to ask each one of us what we would be playing on upcoming concerts. As each of the girls named off their pieces, for instance, the Bach Fugue No. 1 in C minor from the Well-Tempered Clavier, he'd look into space for awhile, his finger at his chin, and then say, "Oh yes. That's a lovely piece. How are you doing with the left-hand arpeggios?" I swear he knew every single piece they named (he was a piano professor at one point, but still...). He's so nice and humble--he just totally makes my day when I see him. So tonight I'm going to a concert, courtesy of Dr. R.

Other than school stuff, we just moved into a house! It's super sweet. I can play the accordion at 11pm and no one cares, except maybe K and some mice. There is a nice big guest bedroom (hint hint) and backyard, although that needs help (next summer: bring your trowels!).

I've been listening to Joni Mitchell's Hejira album (we're a block away from a record store, which is dangerous), and reading Haruki Murakami's "Sputnick Sweetheart," (disappointing), and "Spooks," by Mary Roach (very humorous and interesting. There's a delightful/disgusting chapter on ectoplasm. It makes for good Halloween/Friday the 13th reading...). What else? I'm wearing more neutrals these days, going to a hairstylist that can just look at your face and cut your hair so that it looks good, and having night dreams about old friends. Do you do that? Dream about someone you haven't thought about in ages?

Not-so-wise wisdom teeth

2006-08-28T01:36:00.000-05:00

It's time for bed but I'm not quite tired yet. As usual, I'm on my summer sleeping schedule of staying up late and getting up at 9 or 10. I don't have to go to work until 1, but I get mad at myself when I don't make my mornings more productive. Will I ever change? I have a friend here who runs on a nearby trail at 6 in the morning everyday. On one of her excursions, she picked blackberries on the way and brought some to me. My god, if I even had two ounces of her energy....but after she brought the blackberries we played a little guitar together. She's just learning, so I taught her the first few chords of Blackbird (which I learned by rote from Joan (the best music professor ever) way back in '96 (did I sound old just then?). It's the only song I know on the guitar by memory. I was amazed at how much I do know about the guitar. My friend kept asking me basic things about strumming and picking and tuning and I remembered things my teacher had told me. I really love playing the guitar, I think because you hug it when you play it, and it emits a soft sound like a perfume (Joan's words).

I've been avoiding writing about my summer so far because so much happened--good things and also lots of drama. The most lovely part of it was visiting O'Neill, NE, and driving around country roads past homes my ancestors lived in. It made me realize that I come from somewhere (as if I needed reminding, but when I'm here, my life in the midwest seems like a dream and that I was born in a cabbage patch--which is really what I believed in 2nd grade). It really is beautiful out there, very flat with scrubby trees and pastures and meadows full of haystacks and bales, seemingly arranged in some cosmic order like Stonehenge. We also saw lots of wildlife: my first owl, who was perched on a fence post; a family of raccoons crossing the gravel road; herons? or egrets? I'm not sure, but beautiful tall birds; and lots of other miscellaneous birds (I wish I knew their names). We drove into the yard of a farmette where my great aunt and uncle lived until just a few months ago. The two-story white stucco house was built by my great-grandfather for my great-grandmother, but I don't know how long they actually lived in that house. But the place had a great big yard, three barns, a basketball hoop, and nearby ruins of an old foundation. This was all surrounded by a grove of trees, and you get there by driving through an enchanted lane of low-hanging branches of trees (where the raccoons crossed the road). In other words, I loved this area, and fanticized briefly about moving there, but then realized I'd have to live in small town NE, and be there in the nighttime, which I am afraid of in the country. Anyway, I loved seeing it and other places my family had lived. The highlight was stopping by for an impromptu visit to my mom's cousin's farm about 10 miles from O'Neill. She didn't know we were coming, and we pulled into her yard to be greeted by a barking blue heeler and farm kitties, and the loud grumbling noise of a garden tiller. This late 50-something woman was pushing this noisy, heavy piece of farm equipment through dark soil, which was caking up on her blue plastic sandals. She wore a baseball hat, a big yellow tee-shirt with butterflies on it, and blue shorts. I was amazed. She was like a real Mary Jane farmgirl, working in her beautiful, huge vegetable garden, in which the rows of peas and beans were perfectly aligned. She was happy and surprised to see us (I don't know if she gets that many visitors) and invited us in for a chat and some beverages. Her house is typical NE farmgirl: kitchen covered in floral wallpaper, mauve/grey living room filled with a formal dining table, t.v. set, pictures and hanging figures of angels, china cabinet, fresh flowers on the table, and a small accordion propped up in the corner. Everyone in NE either played the accordion at one time or knows someone who did. In this case, it was her mother that had played it. It was nice to know I had some musicians in the family. On the fridge were 4-H pictures of her son and husband, standing by a cow (or was it a horse? I can't remember). A nearby bulletin board showed off satiny colored 4-H ribbons. It was a very inviting and cozy house, although sad because her only son was killed in a car crash a few years ago. I remember her saying something like, "You have to accept it--there is no other choice." I was amazed at her strength of spirit. She then asked us if we would like some fresh raspberries so we went out in her backyard and picked them ourselves. The blue heeler, Susie, was nipping at my ankles in a playful way. Cousin E then asked us if we'd like to see her roosters and baby chicks (boy would we!) and led us into a dimly lit barn (remember that, kelly?) to show us her sumatran roosters that lay blue eggs (she gave us one, and a brown one too), and her baby chicks that were now adolescents. The dogs had followed us in and wanted very badly to chase them around, but they obeyed and stayed back. E said she wanted to try raising chicks, so she just did it. I wish I had that option! Anyway, she then showed us the beautiful bird house she made to look like a church, which had won a purple ribbon (or was it blue? whatever first prize is) at the fair. This homemade birdhouse was perched above a galvanized tank filled with flowers. Again and again, I was amazed at her farmgirl savvy. It was a lovely day which in which I was immersed in my farmgirl fantasy, and one that I've been thinking of often since I got back. It was the highlight of my stay (along with sewing aprons and purses with mom, and painting an okay still life of flowers).

The downside of my stay was the drama surrounding my dad (most of you know what this entailed and I don't want to go into details) and worry over finding a house in Spokane. K and I decided while we were visiting K and H in early summer that we'd start looking for a house in Spokane, because K really likes his job, and cheap housing is to be had here, so why not start building up equity to buy a really cool house later on in another city. My anxiety began while I was at home, in my parents' house in NE. I'm not a flyer, and being this far away means I have to either fly or drive three days to get home. I don't know if I can keep this up for 3-5 more years--of spending a few weeks in NE once a year--and being bombarded with drama (the two-family situation of being from a divorced home). My family reads this blog but I'm sure it's no surprise to them that I get stressed about living far away and only coming home once a year. When we moved here I thought we'd be "home" (meaning Minneapolis) by 2007, and we'd finally "settle." But now, with buying a house on the horizon, it means being here longer. I'm both excited and scared about being here longer. I really like it here, and cheap housing is abundant (we'd never be able to afford a cool house in the cities). We're making great friends, and more and more I'm loving the mild weather and knowing that I could just drive to the ocean or Portland for the weekend. I feel torn between two worlds, and am not sure where home is and if one should go back to their roots (bloom where you are planted? a mini-quilt bearing this quote hangs in my grandma's kitchen). I feel tied to NE and MN, but would I like living there again? Would it ever be the same? Would I hate it if I moved back? Can one ever go home? Where is home? I don't know if I'll ever answer these questions. K told me the other day that he could stay in Spokane forever (after saying this summer that he could not stay in Spokane forever). I'm not sure where I stand on this issue.

Sorry if I've been waxing prosaic in this posting but there is a lot going on right now, on top of trying to graduate soon (the possibility of doing a recital seems ridiculous right now--I can't envision myself actually doing it, which is keeping me from writing music), preparing to teach a huge lecture class on music history this fall, and trying to figure out what I'll actually do after I graduate (hopefully not work retail). I've also been on a Madeleine L'Engle kick and reading the entire Austin family series (I love them! They sing rounds at the dinner table for grace), and revisiting my interest in marine biology, which first came in the seventh grade after reading "A Ring of Endless Light," in which the main character discovers that she can communicate psychically with dolphins. I found a first-edition copy of this book at a basement, hole-in-the-wall bookstore for 15 dollars and just re-read it. It was luminous, to say the least. I've started wearing the dolphin ring my dad gave me for my fifteenth? birthday, when I was still enthralled with dolphins and marine life.

Oh, it's time to go to bed!

I'm tired, finally.

P.S. I'm having my wisdom teeth out on friday, so think of me and send me letters!

Back in the Inland Northwest

2006-07-27T00:39:00.000-05:00

I've been putting off posting a new blog because there is so much to write about. I just got back from spending three weeks in the midwest. I think I need to decompress a little. But I'm gearing up for more writing soon.

Whatever gets you through the night--or orchestra rehearsal--it's all right

2006-06-02T17:55:00.000-05:00

This quarter, I have had the experience of playing principal flute with our university orchestra. Don't worry, I'm not bragging or anything--I was asked to take over for the original prinicpal flutist who is suffering from tendonitis this term (I was the only other flutist at school that was available). The last time I played in an orchestra was about seven years ago at CSC. I remember really liking orchestra and playing the challenging flute parts for Prokofiev's Classical Symphony and Debussy's Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun. What happened between then and now I'll never know, because I'm stressing out and not enjoying playing in an orchestra as much as I used to. Don't get me wrong--I love orchestral music, and our conductor is awesome: a young (okay, he's my age and went to the prestigious Cincinnati Conservatory of Music) Japanese guy who says funny things while conducting like, "One-two-Captain Crunch!" And has mentioned that he watches the Colbert Report and Arrested Development. He's a very good conductor and kind--he doesn't get too mad if you mess up. But this whole orchestral experience is stressing me out and I'm trying to figure out why. I think it's because I've been playing flute so long that I feel like I should be able to play these stupid runs and fast passages in the music by now--that I'm entitled almost to play well, even though I've never been a good or consistent practicer. When I screw these runs up in rehearsal I get very upset and flustered and swear under my breath, and sit there on the verge of tears thinking, why can't I get this? As the first flute player, it is very hard to hide behind other players--I'm very exposed and most orchestral music tends to have tricky little licks for flute players.

I've been talking to my flute teacher about this, and he showed me a few short cuts, like for fast runs, it doesn't matter what notes you play so long as it sounds like a gliss up to a certain note, and alternate fingerings for tricky passages. I was telling him that I noticed that if I sat up straight in my chair with my left foot planted firmly in front of me, and tried not to lift up my eyebrows while playing that I feel more relaxed, or in charge anyway, and do slightly better with the nerves and the tricky fingerings. He said, just do whatever works, and convinced me I wasn't crazy for adopting a "lucky" pose--akin to rubbing a rabbit's foot or knocking on wood 5 times or any other physical manefestation of obsessive compulsive disorder. He made the point that if certain performers get nervous enough to throw up that that is a sign that mental bullshit can manifest itself in a very physical way. Therefore knocking on wood or trying not to lift the eyebrows while playing doesn't seem so crazy because it works the other way too: by concentrating on changing the physical, the mental seems to follow suit. This may be a whole field of psychological study I'm not yet aware of, but I do read a lot of Dr. Weil and his ideas about mind-body-spirit connection. I have a theory that if I work on my physical self (i.e. exercise more and try not to eat so much sugar) my mental self will stop being so crazy. All of you who know me know that I drive myself insane with over-analyzing every aspect of my life--especially those questions like, what instrument should I focus on, should I be a writer or artist, should I be a painter or photographer, should I teach in the schools or privately, etc. I've gone back and read journals that I've written over the years and they are filled with mental crap such as this--and it's always the same questions over and over again. My brain actually feels sore sometimes after thinking so hard. I'm afraid if I don't stop this I'll go insane. So maybe I'll test my hypothesis to see if it actually works.

But the point of all this is that I have realized that playing music well has nothing to do with talent and everything to do with learning how to deal with, and get over psychological brain freezes and mind-games. I know that when I look at a page of black sixteenth notes my brain freaks out and it manifests itself in my right eye squinting and my left leg swinging over to my right side (when I'm standing). B, my flute teacher, has pointed these things out and pleads with me to stop doing them and to look confident even though I don't feel confident, and to play with conviction even though I'm unsure of the notes. So I've been telling myself, when a rough passage is coming up, that I don't care and I'm just going to play as shitty as possible. And you know what? This little trick works most of the time. Unfortunately I still have to practice because I'm not a great sight reader.

It really is a chore to drag myself to the practice room (the dingy, dirty, fluorescent light-bulbed practice rooms at school with trumpet dribble on the floor). I'm lucky if I get an hour a day in--not because of time restraints, but because of just not feeling like it. If I found a way to enjoy it then I'm sure I could get in 2-3 hours a day. B, again, reassured me by saying that people who practice 8 hours a day are not normal, and are probably slightly mentally ill. This was news to me because we have been told, as musicians, that if you want to be successful, you have to practice 6-8 hours a day! You have to practice before you can have fun, my piano teacher at CSC told me. It was a huge relief to hear him say this, and to also say that it takes a certain sort of person who actually wants to be isolated in a practice room for 8 hours a day--and that this type of person probably also has no social skills as a result, which leads to diva syndrome: when classical musicians get persnickety because the piano is two inches too far to the left, or if their cello strap is not properly placed at a 90 degree angle to their chair, or if they were left Dasani and not Evian water for their oboe reeds to soak in (believe me--I have seen this and worked with this bullshit--I am one of the stage managers at our school for weekly performance hours, and some of our faculty fit this description to a tee). B said that since they can't control how perfect their performance is they feel they have to control
every little external thing that they can change, i.e. the angle of the piano and so forth. See how f-'d up this all is? Anyway, I was so glad to hear that I am normal, and that normal people would rather socialize and sit out in the sunshine then put themselves in a practice room with Brahms for 8 hours. In fact, he told me a story of a cellist he once knew who broke down her 8-hour practice session for him. Apparently she spent about one hour lifting the bow up and slowly bringing it down to the strings as soundlessly as possible. If she made a sound she'd start over and then do this 100 more times or so. Then she would practice scales for 2 hours. If she made a mistake she'd start over from scratch. Sounds a little OCD, doesn't it?

So what is the answer? How can I enjoy practicing and orchestra more and not freak out about pages of black notes? I think I'll do it by not practicing 8 hours a day, and by meditating and eating my greens and by taking a walk and watching squirrels.

Senders/Receivers

2006-05-03T22:49:00.000-05:00

This past weekend, I experienced a very strange psychic phenomenon. On saturday I was supposed to play in a Leone Buyse flute masterclass at school. That afternoon I was planning on practicing and also getting ready for our orchestra concert on monday night, in which Leone would be the featured guest artist. So early saturday afternoon I was puttering around my apartment, getting my things together for the masterclass at later that day when it suddenly hit me that the masterclass was going to be cancelled. Just like that--out of the blue I had a strange feeling. I went to check my email to make sure it was still on. My stomach kind of lurched when I saw a message in my inbox from my flute teacher: URGENT: masterclass cancelled. I was a little weirded out for awhile--and also proud in a weird way that my brain had managed to pick up on the collective energies of the people involved with the masterclass.

This was not the first time something like this has happened, but this time it was a really clear message--and almost physical. I could actually feel it entering my mind, like actual brain waves. I doubted myself of course--I thought it was just wishful thinking because I was dreading playing for this really famous flutist in front of my peers and professors. It was a relief to find out that it had actually been cancelled. Apparently she got really sick the morning she was supposed to fly to Spokane--a combination of vertigo and nausea.

Anyway, on tuesday at my flute lesson I was talking with my teacher about the cancelled masterclass, and how I had a sixth sense that it would be cancelled just hours before it was scheduled. He thought that was interesting, because he was figuring that I was getting this sensation just as he was emailing people about it. He also said that I must be a "receiver." I had never thought about it in this way before, and I was intrigued. He went on to say that he has had occasions where he was a "sender:" particularly one instance in college where his boyfriend brought up the idea of playing a psychic game, where one person would think of an object, and the other would try to pick it up psychically. So the boyfriend was thinking up a word that B just couldn't pick up on and was getting mad in the process of having to play this ridiculous game. The boyfriend decided that B should try and think of a word instead, so B was picturing leaving this guy (and his stupid psychic games) and walking out the door, going down the stairs.....when the boyfriend said, "You're thinking of stairs?" just after B thought it.

So this got me thinking of "senders" and "receivers." Are some people inately senders or receivers? I can think of other instances where a similar thing has happened: dreaming the same dream as my mom one night, thinking of a specific song then it comes on the radio (has happened several times in moments of clarity), and just pretending I'm picking up on people's thoughts and imagining what they're thinking--when maybe I'm literally picking up on their inner thoughts and feelings? I've often wondered that when I dream of someone I haven't thought of consciously, in my waking life, in awhile, if they're also dreaming or thinking of me. In a letter sent by a boyfriend in college when I was a sophomore staying in NE for the summer while he was in MN, he wrote that he felt we were "coupled by an ethereal thread over the sea of corn and soybeans." I think I laughed out loud when I read that line--he always pretended to be so masculine and intellectual that a sensitive and cheesy line like this came as a surprise--but not a shock. The thing was, was that we both had the same birthday, and at times were convinced we were twins separated at birth. Our first psychic happening was when we first met, and we were sitting on a couch, and he asked me when my birthday was. I said, December 1st, and he got the strangest, most spooked-out look on his face. He then showed me a copy of a birth certificate he kept in his wallet: birthday: December 1st. He said that right before I told him what my birthday was, he was thinking, "she's going to say Dec. 1st." So maybe I'm also a "sender." Maybe everyone is both. I've had similar happenings with K, my family, and other people that I'm close to. But it really made me think about starting to take my sixth sense seriously. I tend to not trust my intuition, but when things like this happen, I wonder.

Maybe we could test it out? You could send me a psychic message, and I'll let you know if I received it.

Green Bean Casserole!

2006-04-17T22:30:00.000-05:00

I don't really have time to post because there is so much other school stuff to do, but I'm going to do it anyway because I'm feeling bitchy. One thing I'd like to bitch about is the Easter vigil mass we went to on saturday night. It had been a few years since I've been to a vigil mass, and I forgot how insanely and ridiculously long they are. It started out very magically with the dark church, and everyone was holding a lit candle, and the choir director was singing a beautiful chant. Then, after the fifth reading of the Old Testament and fourth musical interlude we were wondering how many more readings there were and started passing notes to each other (we went with a couple friends of ours--2 of us were Catholic, the other 2 weren't) and getting the church giggles. After the seventh and final reading we thought we were getting close to the mass parts, but there were still baptisms and confirmations to be done. And the mass parts were super long--the choir director was singing every single saint name that ever existed: "St. Ann pray for us, St. Anthony pray for us, St. Francis, pray for us...." You'd think that after mentioning a few key saints they would sing, "and all the other holy men and women...pray for us....." But I think he sang about thirty saint names. Finally I dared to look at my watch. Almost three hours had passed. Well, at least the music and light show was good. The choir sang some great Renaissance polyphonic music, and also some more contemporary music involving an entire brass section with timpani (I was told later the brass people were Spokane Symphony members). Seriously, why can't they do baptisms and confirmations at a less jam-packed mass? I don't think I'll ever be able to go back to another vigil mass, which is too bad, because it really is lovely, minus baptisms/confirmations.

Also, school is again beginning to grate on me. I'm back to grading papers for the music history prof, who has the students write summaries of the chapters they had to read, to make sure they've read them. There are so many things wrong with this that I can't even begin to name them all (students are so sick of school by the time they reach college they don't give a shit; it's another way colleges are dumbing down, etc....don't get me started). Concurrently I'm reading a great book that in turn is making me feel very hopeless about higher education. It's called, Declining by Degrees, and I just finished reading one of the essays, which is basically all about how colleges throw students into huge lecture classes so the college can make more money, and they hire professors mainly to do research, with the teaching of undergraduates of little importance. Anyway, it's a great book and it will piss you off so you should read it. How can I possibly persevere to the end of grad school? I'm so drained from the week at school that by the time the weekend rolls around I want nothing to do with it, and so do everything but study and practice. On the weekends I finally feel like myself again, and all I want to do is go antiquing, go to the public library, read good books, and maybe do some crafty things.

Well, those were the two main things I've been bitchy about. On a lighter note I just read Kate DiCamillo's new book, "The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane." It's very good and it made me cry at certain parts. It was a good book to read on Easter, because it's about a china rabbit. Speaking of Easter, we had 14 people at our apartment for an afternoon feast. We managed to squeeze everyone at the gorgeous antique table that came with our apartment and everyone brought yummy side dishes. We provided the ham and I made an orange mango chiffon pie. A couple friends stayed late and we all drank more wine and had some good conversations, although I can't remember what about (did I drink that much wine)?

Crazy Percussion Fest

2006-04-11T22:25:00.000-05:00

So sunday night I got home from being at the Northwest Percussion Festival this weekend. It's a really cool deal where percussion ensembles from colleges in Idaho, Oregon and Washington get together and play for each other. It's totally non-competitive and a chance to hear what other groups are doing. I think I want to be a percussionist now. I never realized in fifth grade that percussion was more than playing the snare drum, which I found boring. I've learned that anything and everything can be a percussion instruments. Some groups played these great compositions, most of them contemporary, consisting of hitting pots and pans, upside-down hanging clay pots, crystal glasses, the underside of the vibraphone, a box of rocks, clicking stones together, body and vocal percussion, and aluminum cans dropped on sheet metal. How cool is that? And the sounds they made were amazing when combined with the marimba, bass drum, and other more traditonal instruments. The group from Southern Oregon State did some great performance art pieces, one involving non-traditional notation and stones: different shapes had been placed over watch faces, and when the second hand hit a certain shape, a certain sound was made. For example, a square might signify a scraping sound, and a circle might mean a clicking sound, etc. The whole ensemble was making these sounds while two percussion instructors improvised on wooden boxes. The stones sounded like crickets, and the whole effect was amazing. Another piece involved students strategically placed around the recital hall with a pile of paper that each of them improvised ripping, shredding, scraping, tapping, and other sounds you can make with paper. Why have I been playing Chaminade when there is this?

Being around percussionists is different than being around flutists, or any other instrumentalist for that matter. They have always been the cool kids in band, and the guys and girls who stick with it emanate coolness. The few girls that were involved were cute and hipsterish, wearing chuck taylors, silk-screened tote bags, and edgy hairdos. The boys for the most part were either cool and aloof or goofy and friendly. I wasn't surprised that there were fewer girls than guys, but is that because most girls are drawn to the pretty, melodic instruments (flute, violin, piano, clarinet), or is it because they were discouraged to play the more boyish instruments of bass drum and snare? Or was it because they felt uncomfortable in fifth grade band being the only girl? I remember having a fascination with the drums in fifth grade, but either talked myself out of it, or was talked out of it by someone else. I was also very girly and prissy. Anyway, most of the groups consisted of mostly guys with one or two girls. Portland State featured a group of four girl percussionists on one piece, and they were amazing. It got me thinking that I would love to, if I ever had the chance, start up an all-girl percussion ensemble at St. Kate's. I really think more girls would be involved if they knew it involved marimbas, vibraphones, and other gorgeous instruments. I don't think I even knew what these were in fifth grade.

Anyway, aside from getting hit on by the Yamaha salesman (I think I was the only student there older than 21) the people dynamics were very.... interesting. Everyone in my ensemble is a freshman or sophomore, and I had to stay with them in an unchaperoned conference/retreat center across the street from Central Washington University (which has a gorgeous new music building). I really like my classmates--the guys are really friendly and helpful and very goofy and fun. But I had forgotten what 18-19-20 something boys are like--completely out of control and crazy. After each concert ended at night and we were left with some free time, the boys would go to Albertsons and buy three energy drinks each. Then they proceeded to climb up the stone walls of the grocery store, push each other around in a shopping cart, climb into and get stuck in dumpsters, toss a dry-erase marker around the foyer of the gorgeous new music building, and proceed to write with said marker on the windows of new music building, move around parking signs, slide down the stairs on a table in the conference center at 3 in the morning, etc, etc. The list goes on. Mind you, I did not accompany them on these exploits, but the two other freshman girls with me did (who can blame them? They're cute, charming, boyish boys, if a little rambunctious). As a result, I didn't get much sleep, because the girls would return at 4:30 in the morning, while the other girl that was staying with us, insisted upon staying up to watch a movie in the same room I was trying to sleep in. She thought that turning the t.v. around away from me would help, neverminding that the sound comes out of the back. And she was talking to herself outloud while watching the movie. And I was the one driving the next day. I really felt old. I felt like the old crabby lady that complains to the youngsters to turn down their loud music. Had I been ten years younger I probably would have stayed out til four in the morning. I was realizing that these kids were ten when I was twenty. That's a world of difference. They're not even in my generation. One night they were gathered around the computer in the lounge and looking on their MySpace accounts. They were stunned when I told them I wasn't on MySpace. I already have a blog, and I can chat with friends on gmail, so why would I need a MySpace account? They didn't understand this reasoning. I was also remembering that I didn't even know what email was until first year of college, and in the sixth grade we were playing the Oregon Trail on those Apples with the green screens. When they were in sixth grade, which was only about seven years ago for them, they already had XBox and cell phones and email accounts. It's like they can't live without technology. I felt completely out of my element, and wished I had someone to go have a beer with. So in a way it was refreshing to hang out with them and their craziness, but on the other hand even if I were their age I still would not be into climbing into dumpsters or drawing on new music building windows with a dry-erase marker or sliding down stairs on tables that weren't mine (or stairs that weren't mine, for that matter). The most trouble we got into as freshman was smoking a couple Virginia Slims in our dorm room, which was on a smoking floor, making forts out of blankets in the study lounge, dyeing our hair in the yellow bathrooms, and sneaking around Durham hall at night. I should have just hung out with the directors.

Anyway, percussion is my new thing, and to all my young percussion friends here: someday you too will need eight hours of sleep and drink decaf instead of Red Bull.

Chad the folksinger lives here

2006-04-04T21:36:00.000-05:00

This blog post is going to be pretty random. I don't really have any school issues to bitch about, because I've been on spring break, and just started up this week. It was only a week-long break--hardly long enough to recover from the hell that was last quarter. I've just learned that I won't have any research papers to write this term, unless I have to write one for my conducting class, which I doubt. I'm taking Baroque music, which involves preparing two presentations: one on Handel's Messiah, and one on Bach's Goldberg Variations. I already know a little something about the variations, so that should be fairly easy. I also get to be in orchestra this quarter, because the principal player has tendonitis. It's been years since I've played in a student orchestra--hopefully I won't suck too badly. You're a little more exposed as a flute player in orchestra--I'll be playing first so I'll get all the hard solos. I guess I have to practice this quarter! I also just found out I'll be playing in a Leone Buyse masterclass at the end of April, so I really can't slack off. I've always wanted to play in a masterclass, but it might be kind of scary. I hope she's kind.

Anyway, I've been having a sort of dilemma with the flute, like I always have. What am I doing? Do I really like it? I've realized lately that one doesn't have to stick with the instrument they started in fifth grade, and that sometimes people outgrow their instruments. It's not that I don't like it--I just feel indifferent to it sometimes. Is this bad? I'm really not a big fan of flute literature--most of it's very fluffy and girly. There are no great Beethoven or Mozart or Brahms sonatas in the flute literature, so we miss out on all the good, juicy stuff. I don't even know if I like practicing it. Trying to control the breath and stay in tune while energizing the abdominal muscles and trying to stay relaxed everywhere else is like trying to spin plates with your hands and juggle with your feet. And do people care about the flute? I mean, really? Maybe in church, and maybe in an intimate chamber setting. But will your average 20-40 something go out of their way to pay for a ticket to a flute recital? And in jazz--no one takes you seriously unless you also double on sax. I'm trying to decide how far I want to go with this instrument. Am I happy being a church-playing amateur, or do I want more? All these issues spin around my head as I try to practice, which makes for very unproductive practice sessions. But the other dilemma is this: do I start playing another instrument, one that I might enjoy more, but which could take years to get to a decent level of playing? I don't know, but for this quarter I've got to focus on flute.

Other unrelated things: I found out a couple weeks ago (and didn't remember until now) that Chad of the folk-singing duo Chad and Jeremy, lives in Spokane and buys furniture from this store in Spokane where a friend of mine works. And apparently some other folk guy lives here too, one from the New Christy Minstrels, or something. I can't remember. Isn't that great? Spokane is really weird and random that way. It is getting more cosmopolitan though. We're gradually getting better, fancier restaurants, and a ton of posh condos are going up downtown. I'm hoping it'll turn into a Portland jr. within the next ten years, although who knows if we'll stick it out that long? I really like it here, especially the weather, which is so vanillla, that I never have to get kidney stones worrying about severe weather again. I just really really miss going to art museums, having good Chinese and Mexican food (seriously, there is none to be found here), coffeeshops that stay open past six, good second hand stores (either you have Ann Taylor or Goodwill--there is no inbetween, like Ragstock or Buffalo Exchange), good record stores, and never-ending opportunities in the fields of folk-music, puppetry, modern dance, the Alexander Technique, etc (I'm thinking of Cedar Cultural Center, Zenon dance company, Heart of the Beast, Tapestry folk-dance center, and of a woman I'd like to take Alexander Tech. lessons from in the cities. There are none here). So, grrr. I'll be okay for now.

Books: I did get to read something for fun over spring break. Gintastic gives great book reviews, so I decided to read Pamela Dean's Tam Lin. I really enjoyed it, except I kind of got lost in all the Classics and English Literature speak. Don't get me wrong, I love that stuff, but it all gets so heady and dense that I get lost and my brain glazes over at the mention of books and authors I've never read or studied. It was like A.S. Byatt for high school students. Very interesting, but hard to read at times. I was also kind of shocked? surprised? but the ending, which breaks into this weird science fiction/fantasy thing for the last thirty pages or so. I get that it's based on this old Scottish ballade, but the rest of the book was completely based in reality. I was kind of thrown off by that. Call me a philistine if you will, but sometimes I just need to read trash to rest my brain. Maybe I should balance it out with a terrible harlequin romance?

Other things: currently obsessed with June Carter Cash (and the Carter family in general), percussion ensemble and the marimba (is it too late for me to be a marimbist?), free-writing shitty short stories in coffee shops (really really shitty, but fun nonetheless), old homemaking books from my school's library, and watching Rick Steve's Europe on PBS. He's so dorky that you can't help but love him. It also gives me ideas of places I'd like to visit: Toledo, Greece and Turkey, Copenhagen....

Creepy Exploring Adventures

2006-03-28T21:02:00.000-06:00

Thank God, spring break is here. But only for a week (damn!). I've been sleeping in, watching lots of t.v., reading a boat-load of books--including some homemaking books from the fifties I discovered in my school's library. One is called "Homemaking for Teenagers" and includes a recipe for milk fluff--some milky substance involving raw eggs and sugar. Ick. They also give suggestions for choosing fabric colors for a homemade apron: "Aprons are intended to be useful but this does not mean that they need be made with dull, uninteresting colors. Gay, lively colors are attractive for aprons. Of course, this does not mean that colors should be screaming reds or poisonous greens!"

I have visions of making all of these cool, homemade skirts, painting, batiking, baking, writing and taking photos during this brief spring break, but just getting started takes time and school starts on monday already. So I've decided to indulge in just a few of these pasttimes: writing, in the forms of blogs, emails/letters, and misc. free-writing, and urban exploring. This is a new name for something I've always been interested in. I was so excited to read in the new issue of BUST that a group of people in NYC already do this sort of thing, and it's called urban exploring. They basically trespass around and inside old buildings and take pictures and write about them. I love this sort of scary, Nancy Drew exploring. I'd give you a link but I'm feeling lazy. It's at DarkPassage.com. So creepy. But this is the sort of thing I did at CSC, while on the paint shop crew. This is how I discovered the secret Fontbonne pool, full of gorgeous yellow tile and fish etchings in faux-black marble lining the tall walls; huge windows, old creepy locker rooms, and tons of junk inside and around the blue-tiled pool: ceiling fans, toilet paper rolls, dirt, ladders, etc. I wanted to do an art/music installation inside this space as part of a senior project. But I was warned by the head of environmental services that it was unsafe to be in this area. Of course it was! Which makes it all the more creepy and interesting. I'll never forget telling my guitar teacher, Joan, about how I wanted to do this multi-media project in the pool itself, and showed her all the information about it from the archives: old synchronized swimming programs, press-releases about its opening in 1938 (one of the first fitness centers in the country for women, I think), and romantic descriptions of the pool by students found in yearbooks. Joan insisted on seeing the pool space, so we totally snuck into the area, which was locked by its main door. So intent was she on seeing this space, that she found an alternate passage through one of the spooky locker rooms. It was all very adventurous and exhilarating.

Since my fellow paint-shop workers and I discovered this space, we were hungry to find more creepy areas on campus. Working in the paint shop was a good front: it allowed us to explore secret areas without getting into too much trouble. While painting the basement of the chapel around the O'Neill center, during one of our lunch breaks we crept up to the choir loft of the chapel, which was usually closed off by an iron gate during the school year, but at that time during the summer, a crew was working on renovations, and it was open. Wow, was that place creepy or what. Everything was very dusty, and there were still music stands and shelves of chant-music books up there. Beyond the choir loft was a door, which led to a storage area. We found silk flowers, candleabras, and misc. church items. But above this area was a trapdoor, which was open so that we could see that above us was a room that looked like it was full of old heavy furniture. We could also see the rose window from our vantage point. One of the girls, Sheila, tried to climb up there, but it was impossible. I still wish I could see what else is up there. We could swear that we heard ghostly music coming from somewhere, but it only turned out to be the radio from the renovation crew.

Among our other adventures, we got to see the nun's quarters on fourth floor Durham, which was always rumored to be haunted, especially by a nun in a rocking chair. Supposedly a red light can be seen from her old window, and when I lived in Caecilian hall, I used to look for that light, half hoping I wouldn't see it. But our paint crew was scheduled to paint these rooms, which looked as if the nuns had just lived there the week before. In some rooms, the mattresses were still there, with pictures on the walls, and curtains on the windows. The walls were painted a lovely mint green, but the paint was peeling which gave it a slightly sinister aura. The whole place gave me the creeps. I loved it. This whole senario reminded me of being a freshman, and with a few other third-floor St. Mary's girls, took the elevator up to fourth-floor Durham, intending to explore it in the dark (it was after ten I think). We were half-expecting the elevator to stop at the third floor, because apparently the fourth floor was closed off. But when the elevator doors opened onto the fourth floor, we were scared shitless. It was dark and empty. I think there was some junk strewn about, but it was hard to tell. We pressed the down button as fast as we could. I had disaster fantasies of being stuck at the fourth floor all night, not being able to get back down. But luckily the elevator was working properly and we got out of there as fast as possible. It was so fun!

Needless to say I'm on my new-old kick of exploring places. I'm not sure about the trespassing thing, but I'll be on the lookout for more safe, yet scary urban explorations in Spokane.

What the----?

2006-02-25T22:30:00.000-06:00

Yet again, another rant on contemporary art music.

On thursday, I had the absolute "privelege" of sitting in a darkened classroom listening to a ten-minute recording of a "pling pling" song done on the piano. It sounded exactly like that: imagine someone playing completely random whole notes on the piano for ten damn minutes. Let me explain. This year, our school is hosting three visiting composers who present snippets of their work, followed by a discussion about composition and all that that entails. A few weeks ago, Gunther Schuller came and we listened to one of his symphonies (10 minutes of diverse, stimulating music), followed by a question and answer session. He was amazing and adorable. He wore a blue-plaid blazer, short blue socks exposing elderly ankles, loafers, and bifocals hanging around his neck, while clutching a green-flowered tote-bag between his knees. He talked about how writing a score with pencil (as opposed to composing on the computer) connects the mind with the heart through the fingers, and how a score can be visually stunning as well as engaging. He talked about, how as a child growing up in Germany, had to sing Bach chorales everyday at the start of school. His parents were professional musicians who played music constantly, and little Gunther, like a little sponge, apparently sang Wagner's Tannhauser in the bathtub--imitating all the different instruments, while he played with his rubber duckies. At eleven he was studying medieval scores in the New York City Public Library. He also talked about jazz, and how it hasn't changed since the sixties--the bass players having to play the "same goddamn E-Flat seven chord over and over again," (direct quote--he swears like a sailor). The whole discussion was amazing and enlightening. Contrast that with this: a man in his sixties with messy, balding gray hair and wrinkled clothes, as if he had just rolled out of bed or walked through a wind storm, prefacing his presentation with the promise to discuss "compositional methodology" after listening to his compositions for an hour and fifteen minutes. I jotted down "compositional methodology" in my notebook because it sounded important. The lights were dimmed, and a fifty-second contemporary piano piece tinkled through the speakers. Great. Second piece: Maple Leaf Rag by Scott Joplin, 3 minutes, 13 seconds (Okay, why is he playing this? There must be a reason? But must he play the whole thing? We've all heard it before...). Next: a 13 minute, 38 second EXTREMELY SLOW piano "pling-pling" piece (What the----?). For the first ten minutes I sat there stunned. Can he be serious? I looked around: the "composer" stood by the CD player, drinking, what I'll assume was coffee, out of a styrofoam cup. The screen was down and cast a blue haze around the room--I kept waiting for something visual to pop up to pique my interest. Nothing. I looked around. Everyone was looking at their desk--were they as confused as I was? I attempted to study for a forthcoming history test later that day. Meanwhile, I was feeling ill--it was such an uncomfortable feeling to sit there and listen to this, this utter bullshit--and I was getting angrier and angrier that he expected us to sit here and listen patiently. I looked on the list he gave us of other works he was planning on playing that hour. I just about passed out: the next pieces were, respectively, 3 minutes, 10 minutes, 12 minutes, and 19 minutes long. For f's sake! If this piece was any indication of what the rest of the pieces would be like, I'd rather watch ants eating crumbs for two hours. I was fuming. I sat there full well knowing that the vein in my temple was beginning to throb and imagined steam coming out of my ears like a Popeye cartoon. How arrogant! That we're supposed to sit here and take this crap, this utter waste of my time? His "music" embodied everything I hate about contemporary art music--it's inaccessible and borders more on annoying sound than music. Indeed, can this even be called music? I'm sorry, but John Cage was doing this in the forties, scraping seeds out of a pomegranite under a microphone. Been there, done that. I couldn't take it anymore. Knowing what torture lie ahead, I quietly closed my notebook (in which I had hoped to jot down some insightful thoughts on the compositional process), and left the room through the back door. Luckily there was a back door, and that I decided to sit there before the torture started. I was hoping that my leaving would start a whole stream of students walking out, to teach him a lesson. I'm still stunned. This man is supposedly a great theorist and composer, but what I witnessed was anything but. I was guessing that he had really come unprepared and just decided to thrust his crappy random whole notes onto us. For all I know they could have had a riveting discussion after the "music" was done playing. But the fact that he expected us to sit through this amount of "music" for over an hour made me want to vomit. If you want to present your music, please play only 1 minute of each. Then say, "Oh, it pretty much sounds like this for the next fifteen minutes. That would have been fine. I think I can tolerate anyone's music for 1 minute. Was it wrong of me to walk out? Should I have given him a chance?

Grrr....

2006-02-21T19:04:00.000-06:00

I need to vent. I feel like I'm working a 60-hour a week job with none of the benefits, like a salary, pension, or health insurance. Ok, yes I get most of my tuition paid for, and 80 bucks every other week, but still, I'm really just a slave working for 2 cents an hour. The amount of homework and paper-grading I had to do this past 3-day weekend was insane. And I was only able to get about 1/3 of it done. Saturday was spent recovering from the previous week, but Sunday and Monday I worked literally all day long. What is this slave labor that pretends to be graduate school? Ever concerned with how things ought to be done in education, rather than the way things actually are, it seems counter-intuitive that graduate students, A) have more work than undergrads (grad students have more responsibilities in general: bills to pay, children to feed, etc.), and B) the graduate students with assistantships have to take at least 10 credits a quarter, but yet they have more work to do outside of school work (grading papers, teaching classes, running the recital hall, making copies, sending out emails, heading committees--ie--the busy work of professors). And this makes sense how? I'm so busy with miscellaneous "stuff" that I don't have time to do the thing I came to grad school for: music. Writing music, performing music, listening to music. I'm wondering how I'm ever going to put together a recital when I've been averaging about one composition per 3 quarters. Seriously, I just finished a composition I started at the beginning of fall quarter. Ug! Not only do we have all this misc. "stuff" to do, our graduate program here is so stuffed with credits (60, compared with the 30 of most grad programs) that I am forced to take large ensemble and private lessons even though they are indirectly related to my specific degree program. Even more aggrivating, it that it is an unwritten rule that all grad students take 2 years of lessons and large ensemble when the graduate catalogue says I only have to take a year.

On top of all this, I don't have time for real life: exercising, corresponding with friends and family, sending thank-you notes for birthday and Christmas presents received, reading for pleasure, writing for pleasure, making crafts, playing piano for fun (I don't have time to play the used piano I just bought! It is a beautiful upright I found for 300 bucks), and the list goes on and on. By the time my weekend comes, I am spent. But if I don't do homework during the weekends, the next week is completely shot. If this is what being in the academic or real working world is like, I want nothing to do with it. I don't want to spend my life feeling frazzled and stressed out. I'm crabby, tired, always feeling like I'm coming down with something, stiff and sore from not exercising, and just plain not happy.

It all makes me wonder about the efficacy of graduate school, and of institutionalized education in general. I feel like I'm not learning anything except how to cut corners, speed read chapters in my music history books, practice once a week and get away with it, and in general, half-ass everything. I really feel like I won't be a "master" of music when I'm done--just a master of faux-learning.

Rainy day feeling

2006-01-22T12:43:00.000-06:00

Since I've turned 29, (or really, when I turned 27), I've been realizing that people my age and younger are doing amazingly cool things with their lives. I've been feeling lately that I've wasted my twenties. This is partly in response to Kelly's latest blog on feeling envy for those Gen X'ers that are published authors now. I also feel not only jealousy but anger: what opportunities did they have that I didn't? What allows them to bypass all that mental bullshit that I put up with every time I try and create? Are these people trust-funders? Do they have the energy to create because they don't have to work? How do they get stuff done? Mostly it's anger at myself. I'm really just lazy. Every time my brain tells me I need to practice or write or whatever, I make up a good excuse like, I need to go outside and enjoy this beautiful day! Or I need to watch this Rick Steves show on Toledo so I can imagine that I'm there. What's the deal? Why do I deny myself happiness and creativity at every turn? Lately I've been suffering from extreme boredom, which K has told me might be a sign of depression. Which explains a lot actually. I always have to remind myself that I'm doing something exciting with my life now--working on a master's degree in a subject I love. But when I get home from school, and it's dark out, I feel extremely bored and apathetic. Which also might be seasonal disorder. Anyway, depression or not, I've decided I just have to do "it" and not think about it. A friend of mine in Eugene who plays the saxophone regularly at a local jazz club says "I practice whether I want to or not." I always try to keep that in mind. If I can just get to the intrument/notebook/canvas/sewing machine, that's the hardest step, and the rest takes care of itself. I also remind myself that Laura Ingalls Wilder didn't start writing the Little house series until she was in her 60's. I think sometimes seasoned creators are better than young ones anyway, because they have real life experiences behind them, and not just some MFA from Columbia.

Bursting Pomegranites=Sexy Symbolism

2006-01-18T00:07:00.000-06:00

I did something I never thought I'd do. I read The Da Vinci Code. I wasn't ever planning on reading it although I've had coworkers recommend it to me. In fact it was my office mate at school who loaned it to me after I loaned him a few books from the Narnia series. I'm like, yeah, whatever, I can't read something that's on the NY Times bestseller list. I'm not snooty or anything, but I thought it would be a really cheesy read. Which it sort of was. But the thing is, I really enjoyed this book! I couldn't put it down! Do you believe that? It has everything a good novel should have--cheesy dialogue, a good plot, accessible, good writing and short chapters. It read kind of like a Hollywood script--the main characters are good-looking and virile, and it's non-stop, fast-paced action. It's a really damn compelling read. I had heard what the story was about--about the possibility of Jesus being married to Mary Magdalene, but it was more than that. It opened my eyes to the world of symbology, art history, iconography, cryptology, mythology, egyptology, and all those other -ologies that one could study at Harvard or some other such school. I became obsessed with this story--and not just the Jesus/Mary myth, but all the supposed symbols hidden in art and literature that tell this story. The author really did his research. All the stuff he talks about is based on real scholarship. I know, because I'm researching it all right now, in the midst of starting school and having to read about Renaissance music (which is related! There is tons of symbolism/numerology hidden in medieval/ren. music).

I'm getting reacquainted with my old love of ancient history. In sixth grade I was obsessed with Ancient Egypt and did book reports and diaramas on the Book of the Dead. I also loved the myths of Atlantis and the Loch Ness monster. I secretly want all of these myths to be true, because they're so magical. And, if you haven't read the book, did you know that supposedly the Holy Grail isn't a thing, but a person--Mary Magdalene? The ancient symbol for a woman is a "V", which was called the "chalice." And supposedly the "grail" once held the blood of Jesus. Which, when you look at this literally, you know what that means, right? And all this talk of "vines" and "branches" in the Bible--I wonder if they're secretly referring to Jesus' bloodline--his actual descendents. Wow, isn't that cool?

This interest in mystery, I think, all comes from my love of Nancy Drew and the History Detectives. Da Vinci Code was kinda like a combination of those two things. And it's full of art history and conspiracy theories! What more could you want? There's even a line in the book that made me laugh out loud: "Please.....no. That's Madonna of the Rocks!"

Happy New Ear

2006-01-02T01:20:00.000-06:00

This is what the sign in front of the General Store said. I wonder if someone stole the "Y" or some cheeky employee made the sign that way. It's so fun when people tamper with public signs, don't you think? This past summer, Kelly, Ken and I had lunch at the Highland Grill in St. Paul, and while we were waiting for art history prof. Joanna to show up, we witnessed this very phenomena right across the street at the Highland Theater. I think the sign was supposed to advertise Bill Murray in "Broken Flowers" but some smartass changed the letters around so it said "Big Boner Shower." We laughed heartily and took a picture--and just in time too--not moments later an employee changed the letters back. It's not too often that I witness little passing moments like that. Just think of all the people who missed it. Fun with letters! It's like Sesame Street, but dirtier. Speaking of Sesame Street, Ken just downloaded the 12345-6789,10-11 12 video from Sesame St. It's so trippy, and it was sung by the Pointer Sisters. Have you listened to it lately? It's very funky and cutting edge for a kid's show. And now it's all watered down with Elmo's World. Grrr, don't get me started. Lately we've been immersed in the first season DVD of the Muppet Show. Talk about trippy! Their heads are always blowing up, or the monsters eat each other. There's even smoking and drinking! I love it. I have a new love for Sweetums, whom I used to be afraid of when I was little. He is kind of scary, but when you get the humor, he's funny too. How fun would it be to make puppets and then have them throw pies in each other's faces? Now that's art.

I just sent 11 inches of my hair through the mail the other day. What a relief! I had been thinking about cutting my hair for awhile and finally just did it. I managed to find a great hairstylist who isn't one of those annoying Aveda types. The salon is just this mom and pop kinda place where they played 80's music (getting my hair cut to Abba and Huey Lewis!). It was a great time. I was having anxiety the night before, wondering if I could actually go through with it, because it takes so darn long to grow out. But my horoscope in the newspaper said, "Try something different." So I decided to go through with it. It wasn't even scary. I got a cute short cut that's very Amelie, with some lowlights and highlights. It's weird. It doesn't feel surprising to me, or different in a way. It's like I was in this long, enchanted sleep where I dreamt I had long hair, and when I woke up it's just like I've always had it--short. I don't miss it at all. It was very heavy and tangly. And old-fashioned. I donated it to Locks of Love. The woman at the post office was pretty impressed I had just cut 11 inches off my hair. It's a brave thing to do but totally worth it. Especially to give it to someone who can use it.

Tomorrow we are headed for Portland, and then the Oregon Coast for a mini-vacation. I can't wait. I'm sure I'll have tales of sea lions (hopefully not puking ones. We witnessed that once and it was the most disgusting thing I had ever seen--or smelled) and octopi when I get back.

My new year's resolution? To stay motivated and find my creative process. And to not procrastinate. And to be flexible enough to do the splits.

So This is Christmas

2005-12-24T03:03:00.000-06:00

I just found out today that a friend of mine from college has cancer. How can this happen? How can a young person have a malignant tumor in her colon? It seems so unreal, like a horrible dream. Christmas seems so superficial now, with all the shoppers buying last-minute thoughtless gifts. They're like zombies, expressionless and wandering through my store grabbing whatever off the shelves as a last resort. To quote Holden Caufield, "it depresses the hell out of me." That Charlie Brown "Christmas Time is Here" song keeps going through my head. It's the perfect soundtrack to this depressing holiday season. It sounds so blue--and it makes me think of people shuffling silently through the snow, going from store to store, not talking to anyone, not enjoying themselves. To top it all off, I just read the newest Banana Yoshimoto book, which is all about death, like a lot of her stories. The stories are so simple, beautiful, and mystical but a little depressing. Oh, and all the snow just melted, and it's raining.

Christmas morning, K and I will wake up, have some Christmas crepes filled with Nutella and bananas, open our presents, go to a buffet at a fancy hotel with a chocolate fountain, and maybe go bowling or watch a movie. K has to work for a few hours on Christmas, so we opted not to go home again this year, even though that would have been nice. But it's easy for us--unlike my friend, who is too young to be going through this (no one at any age is supposed to go through this). It makes me think, wow, this could happen to anyone. It seems so heartless and random.

Insomnia on St. Lucia Day

2005-12-13T02:18:00.000-06:00

I've been trying to fall asleep for about an hour and decided to get up and get something productive done, like writing this. I'm planning on waking up at 5:30am to bake a St. Lucia Day coffee cake. The dough is all ready to go--I just have to braid it, let it rise for twenty more minutes, then bake it for thirty minutes. Hopefully it will be done before K has to go to work. I get in these moods during the Christmas season--wanting to be Martha with baking, making my own cards, decorating the apartment in lights and fake evergreen garlands from Michael's. It's a combination of boredom and my growing domestic urges, which I think, are brought on by age. I dream of being a retro housewife, with a totally 50's decorated house, with a pink-tiled bathroom, a bright yellow kitchen with pastel appliances and sheer white ruffled/yellow polka-dotted curtains on the windows, Ikea-like atomic-age/Palm Springs furniture in the living room, and a peach bedroom with a fluffy white rug below the peach satin bed and peach satin ballooned wall hanging, with a writing desk to write letters on my monogrammed perfumed peach stationery, and a white vanity with a big square mirror-- and not a speck of dust anywhere, with gleaming kitchen floors and glittery formica kitchen counters. What's gotten into me? A few years ago I wanted to be a hippie living in a VW Van, travelling the US and staying in random state parks, living off of my crocheted hats, scarves, and doilies. Now I dream of domesticity and read vintage homekeeping books and "Home Comforts: The Art and Science of Keeping House," by Cheryl Mendelsson--a huge book about seven-hundren pages in length devoted to housekeeping. But does my apartment reflect this dust-free/shining floors peach daydream? No. It's a mess, and there's dust bunnies on the hardwood floor, I'm ashamed to admit. Yesterday K came down with a little bug and wanted to take a warm bath and I had to scrub it out before he used it. I'm sure the nastiness is making us both sick, as I am trying to fight an oncoming cold. As in everything I want to undertake, whether it be writing music, writing stories, painting a picture or cleaning my house, I seem to come up with a billion reasons why I don't have time, yet spend endless hours in the library, at the computer (surfing), watching the same Simpsons episodes over and over, and trying to read about ten books at the same time. I really think I could do with some Ritalin. It seems I have a hard time with focusing and self-discipline. I'm out of shape, have bags under my eyes, and yet still do things to my body that make me feel like shit. Will I ever learn? Kelly and I have a theory that the people who make it in the art/writing/music world, are those that aren't necessarily super talented, but have the ability to cut through the mental bullshit and create/practice no matter what. I tend to stop myself before I ever get started. If I keep this up, how will I ever have my clean and lovely aparment? Or a career in the arts? Or a body that doesn't feel tired and tense all the time?

In four and a half hours I will attempt to wake up and bake my coffee cake. St. Lucia is the patroness of light, and it's an old tradition in Sweden for the oldest girl to don a white robe and a wreath of candles upon her golden head and bring this braided bread to her parents in bed. Sounds pretty dangerous if you ask me. But lovely, nonetheless.

Crossing the Fission Boundary

2005-11-28T18:09:00.000-06:00

Ug--I'm in the process of writing yet another paper I don't give a hoot about. Countless times since high school, I have been in this predicament--procrastinating until the last minute, sitting down at the kitchen table trying to straighten my thoughts out, drinking loads of coffee (half-caff, lots of soy creamer), sleepless nights, anxiety attacks, more procrastination (anything to avoid the uncomfortableness of slinging words onto a page that you know come from half-assed thoughts and b.s.-ing)....
This time my paper is about the psycho-acoustics of voice-leading--based on a 65-page article the graduate students had to read in our graduate counterpoint seminar, written by a man named David Huron from Ohio State. Here is one sentence from the article I'm using for a partial thesis statement:

"The principles of tonal fusion, the pitch proximity principle, and the pitch co-modulation principle all contribute to the achievement of the same goal--namely, the optimization of stream segregation."

It took me all quarter just to figure out what that means. Tonal fusion? Stream segregation? It's basically saying that the rules of voice-leading, i.e., avoiding parallel fifths and octaves, avoiding large melodic leaps, etc, can be backed by science--that the biological way our ears hear sounds apply directly to these rules. Therefore, this is why the rules exist. Okay, it's somewhat interesting, but to study this for a whole quarter? I enjoy and appreciate science, but sometimes I just don't understand it and all the scientific lingo that goes along with it. Which is okay, because I don't expect everyone to understand Neapolitan sixths and dominant sevenths and all that other music-talk. But just because our professor finds this article endlessly fascinating, does this give him the right to foist this upon us for the entire quarter, and then just two weeks ago, announcing that we must write a 10-15 page paper on it? What is it about our education system that gives professors/teachers and higher education in general the right to bore us with topics that only interest them? Is this what grad school is all about--pretending to care rather than actually learning something and enjoying it? Is this what my diploma will attest to? That I was able to withstand extreme boredom, sleepless nights and anxiety attacks due to the writing of research papers on topics of no interest to me?

What I don't understand is, why don't college professors go through the same training as elementary and high school teachers? For all practical purposes, the average college student is still a teen-ager, and therefore not too different from a high-schooler. Most teachers have to take classes in educational and developmental psychology, which, if college professors had to take these same classes, would learn how to facilitate discussion, how to teach so students care about what they're learning, how to motivate students, and how to teach toward different learning styles. I guess if you can get through a P.h.D. without killing yourself you can teach whatever the hell you want. Screw learning theories! You will learn about pitch proximity principle and you'll like it!

So what is the point of all this long-winded rambling? I just get so sick of college professors and their complete ineffeciency and teaching incompetence. Having studied education as an undergraduate, I am aware of learning theories, and get so frustrated when profs have these great classes to teach (Music history! Ear-training! Counterpoint! Theory! Piano!) yet they teach them in such a boring and inefficient way that I want to scream. How many hours have I spent in a music history classroom with a monotone-voiced professor on the cusp of retirement, reading from his lecture notes from 1965? How many hours did I waste trying to decipher Huron's article, and when I did, how many hours did I complain to friends about "crossing the fission boundary"? How many years of boring piano lessons and "Hot Cross Buns" playings did I have to endure before I could play Fur Elise (which is easily taught by ear/rote to a ten-year-old in her first year of lessons)? Here is a poem by Richard Brautigan that perfectly sums up my feelings on the whole deal:

I remember all those thousands of hours
that I spent in grade school watching the clock,
waiting for recess or lunch or to go home.
Waiting: for anything but school.
My teachers could easily have ridden with Jesse James
for all the time they stole from me.

Goodbye, land of diaries

2005-11-22T23:04:00.000-06:00

I've decided to ditch diaryland because I just noticed they've deleted most of my old postings. Jerks!

This morning, walking to the bus stop, I came across a pile of cooked spaghetti and a pair of tennis shoes lying in the middle of the sidewalk. Feel free to come up with a story for that one. Oh, and then, not 2 seconds later, a truck drives by with a small, bare tree standing up in the middle of the bed of the truck, ala Harold and Maude. It was a very odd start to my day, which was full of foggy/clammy weather, my flute teacher helping me get through a tricky run in the Chaminade Concertino by having me imagine giving birth to a traffic cone, and procrastinating on homework, again.