Peer Pressure?

One problem with me is I’m the type of person who has to read all the books you’re “supposed to” read. I don’t just read for pleasure. Or knowledge for that matter. It’s true I read for both those reasons primarily, mostly just because I love it. But there’s also this streak in me that reads novels simply because people who read certain novels are distinguished, respected, and intellectually superior. And that’s lame. It doesn’t always work out either.

My latest example: Foucault’s Pendulum by intellectual of intellectuals Umberto Eco. Now trust me, I don’t know much about Mr. Eco. I don’t even know if he’s still alive. (Update, just googled him, he is). My first encounter with his work was when my brother, generally a reliable source for cool things to consume, bought me “The Name of the Rose” for my birthday. Or was it Christmas? I’m not very good at giving gifts. I just don’t care about them. I think the odd consequence of this is I’m always afraid of undervaluing other people’s gifts. If you give me something, I’ll use it. Guaranteed. I’ll try and treasure it to the greatest extent I can, which in some cases isn’t much, but it’s still as much as possible. So the surest way for me to try something is to give it to me in gift form. And so that is the reason I slogged through all 400 pages or at least what felt like 400 pages if not more of “The Name of the Rose.” Now, it’s not a bad book. It’s quite good actually. And Eco is obviously one of the intellectual elite. Any man who takes no less than 3 languages (I think it was more actually) to write a mystery novel must either exist on another level or be a complete and total snob. I lost interest in the “The Name of the Rose” quickly but I continued doggedly because this wasn’t just some library book I had grabbed off the shelf.

Well I did get something out of it, and it was fascinating in places (if only because it was so long-winded and confusing). But in the end I know of more profound authors who have a simpler, more accessible style. Let’s just put it that way. So WHY, in heaven’s name WHY did I pick up “Foucault’s Pendulum” while perusing the college library last month? Because Umberto Eco is an intellectual and I can feel superior or at least equal to all my intellectually superior friends (of whom I have ever so many **sarcasm**) by saying “oh yes, I read ‘Foucault’s Pendulum’ last week. Marvelous just marvelous, wouldn’t you agree? What did you think of the symbolism of such and such on page 247? I find it to be rather existential myself.” Which is complete and utter crap. I really have very little patience with that sort of thing, except I’m so afraid of being considered ignorant that I don’t dare tell anyone so. I read a few reviews of Foucault’s Pendulum before taking the plunge and all said the same thing: that it was a wonderful piece of work, clever, witty, profound and all the rest. And I wasted hours of my life wading through all of Eco’s obscure references and multilingual banter, because I kept thinking “ah! I’m just on the verge of understanding the point behind this monster of a book!” And it does have a point behind it and I kind of vaguely get it but at this point I don’t really care. Whenever you haven’t figured out if you like a book and you’re 2/3rds of the way through, chances are you don’t. So much for my intellectual superiority. I have no idea why the text is gradually getting bigger!

Prayer

What do you do when tragedy strikes a close friend? Suddenly there is an invisible wall in between you and someone you used to share much of life with. A friend of mine recently found out her mom has cancer, and the prognosis does not look good. This week has been difficult for her, and for me as I try to find the best way to be there for her. All I can do right now is pray and hope for the best. That is the wonderful thing about prayer. It does a lot of things, one of which is simply to be an emotional outlet. It's the one thing I know I can do and not worry about being insensitive or awkward as I so often am. Which is unfortunate, because seeing her suffer really does cause me pain, yet I'm as awkward and tongue-tied as ever. Hopefully she will forgive me for my failings and God will help me to serve her in the right way. And yet I feel so helpless in the face of something like this. There is nothing I can do to fix it. There is nothing I can do to make her feel better. Nothing I say will change anything.

It is so heartbreaking to walk with her and to see that shadow she is living under. What she is feeling is so far removed and so much deeper than anything I have ever felt. I can't go there with her. I can only watch on the sidelines. And pray. Never before have I been so pious. This cancer is not only physically attacking her mom, it's attacking her whole family and I am the unhappy witness of the attacks it is making on her soul. She's always been so joyful and full of laughter, and it kills me to see her so changed by this. And yet I can't believe how strong she is in the face of it all. I am so tired of seeing my friends suffer.

Things I Did This Weekend

Friday - Saw my first opera ever, "Tosca." Loved it. It was so deliciously over-the-top. The villain was great. Hanging out with the gang was a lot of fun. If only parking downtown wasn't such a hassle.

Saturday - Went to Greg Papst's memorial service. He knew my parents, was my first director at CYT, and beyond that was one of the warmest people I've ever met. It's difficult to describe Greg. He's one of those people you'd just have to meet. Larger than life is about the closest you can get. Having taken several classes from his wife, Kari, I wanted to go and express my support and condolences to the family. He was taken so suddenly, a serious diagnosis of stomach cancer back in August... There is one less amazing Godly person in the world now.

I also went to the SJO's tribute to Artie Shaw and Benny Goodman, which was awesome. I hadn't been to an SJO concert in a really long time, and my friend Christina really wanted to go so I was happy to oblige. The first half of the night was awesome. I ran into half of my old high school jazz band standing in line to get tickets! These were kids who were playing in the band as junior highers and freshmen when I was a senior. It was so cool to see them still involved in music and jazz and to be spending their night at the concert. Then, we ended up getting in for free! We already had one comp ticket courtesy of Brent, but the lady at the ticket window literally wouldn't let us pay for the second. She just told us to go in and enjoy the show! Wow! Then, I ended up running into Mr. Griffing, who I had sat next to at Greg Papst's memorial service. Weird. The concert was amazing. I wish the second half of our night had gone as well. Christina wanted to get dessert, so I realized that Ella's was just a block away and since we hadn't had to pay for our tickets I didn't mind paying $5 for dessert. Unfortunately they charged us a $5 cover charge which I wasn't expecting, so we ended up paying a lot more than we expected. Poor Christina's dessert wasn't even that good. AND there was this weird drunk guy sitting at the table next to us who was dancing around and being a spaz... Plus we realized it was a lot later than we thought because of Daylight Savings time. Oh well.

Sunday - Whitworth Orchestra Concert. It was all the winners from the concerto competition, and was pretty impressive. The orchestra has really improved since it started, and the concerto winners all did very well.

So, lots of music, as usual. I just can't stop. What will I do when I can no longer get student ticket prices?

Sooooo Tiiiiired.

Chant composition.
Class.
Lunch with Amy. :-)
Class.
Test.
Group carousel. (AAHHHH!!!)
Whitworthian.
Practicing.
Jazz with silly boys.
EQUALS
Deep theological conversations.
Laughing at Elementary Music Methods.
Me being the center of attention for waayyy too long.
Depressing thoughts about the future.
Feelings of inadequacy.
Apathy.
Burnout.
What do I want to read?
Maybe I'll just watch YouTube.
Emotionally drained
This is what happens when I spend too much of my day trying to be an extrovert.

A Good Bad Day for Music. Or perhaps a Bad Good Day for Music...

So yesterday was tough. Who knew that 30 minutes could so define how the rest of your day/week was going to go. But so it was. Long story short: Bev was stressed, I was late, things went WAY downhill from there. I fell all over myself playing. Bev was disappointed in me. I'm not living up to her expectations. Etc. So me and the music-obsessed personality inside of myself were not friends. That IS how I feel sometimes. Like this music-crazed geek cannot possibly be me. Like sometimes some weird person takes over and I lose all perspective. At those times, my desire to excel and my limitations come in stark contrast against each other and I go through this weird self-despising circle of not being good enough and then reprimanding myself for even having any sort of high expectations of myself. Hurray for bad days.

So all things considered, my confidence was seriously undermined and my love for the music of Brahms was decidedly nil. I stumbled out of the music building, barely giving anyone else the time of day and fighting to keep back the embarrassing tears of shame. Okay. So I bawled like a toddler when I got back to my room. Like I said, I don't even recognize myself sometimes. After an apathetic hour or so, I decided it would be beneficial to get out of my room and try to focus on something else, somewhere else. This led me to the coffee shop, where CNN news was unsurprisingly covering the presidential nominees. With my Music History text spread in front of me and my iPod set on shuffle I prepared to return to normality. And then the New York Philharmonic came on. They had just completed their concert in North Korea. Suddenly, music was once more my friend.

Since the TV was muted, I decided to switch on Dvorak's New World Symphony just for atmosphere. It had been part of the concert, along with the countries' national anthems, a couple of Korean folk songs, and Gershwin's "An American in Paris." Excellent programming, I thought. Some people laughed at the fact that Dvorak is not an American composer, which is true, but they fail to see the significance of "From the New World," in that setting. Some dismissed the concert as political fluff, and yes, it will take a lot more than an American orchestra playing violins to open up North Korea and unite it with the South. But! Just think! Some of those people were hearing that music for the very first time in their lives! I wonder what they thought of it. I wonder if they liked it, or were inspired, or hated it, or thought it was boring. I wonder if any of the children, gathered in their family's living room, will become musicians because of the performance. At this point, it's hard to say if anything Musical will come from it. So many Political things have to happen before that can. But at the very least, that was a day to remember for many Koreans.

And so, not completely happy but more content with life I continued my studies. That night I went to Hosanna, Whitworth's student-led worship service, and enjoyed the freedom of praise music that has no expectations. Grace is a wonderful thing. And so if it had to be a bad day, it was at least a good day to have a bad day. I suppose.

Lionel Hampton

I was gone for 2 days this week due to the Lionel Hampton Jazz Festival in Moscow Idaho. This festival was something I always looked forward to in high school, but we didn't get to go my senior year because our band was slowly dwindling to an unhappy handful of inexperienced junior highers. So I was really excited to go this year.

What's more, I actually got paid to accompany Mead Middle School. So I drove down to my house Tuesday night. My parents came with me to middle school day on Wednesday, at my request (it was either that or hang out with the middle school kids, who I swear are not human). It went pretty well. There was one awkward moment in the warm up room where I had to read the bass line to Route 66 and got completely lost. I'm sure that instilled confidence in the kids. But once we got on stage even with me scrambling to turn pages things went pretty well.

Thursday was college day, and I elected to drive down (with mom and dad in tow, this time not by choice) a couple of hours early to hear Jazz Ensemble I. It was worth it, and they actually ended up winning best college ensemble! My combo did reasonably well, although I have yet to see the comment sheet. I was expecting a critique, but they didn't give one which was kind of a huge disappointment. I mean, I wasn't expecting us to win and the critiques are really the reason to go in any case. But as far as I could tell, it was one of our best performances as a group, at least from my point of view. I really took some chances and tried to react/interact with the other musicians, not just stay stagnant on the sidelines. There were some really good moments that came from that. There were also some more shaky ones. And I'm still not sure what my solo sounded like. But I tried to stretch myself, and that's the important thing.

I might have done a little better if the stupid U of I camera man hadn't stuck his camera right in my face. I had just finished my solo and suddenly he walks up right next to me with his tripod and then zooms in on my face or my hands or something. Meanwhile I was forgetting where I was in the chord progression because of my camera phobia. Thanks pal.

I later found out that 2 of my fellow combo members won their solo competitions. Our sax player and our trumpet player. So it was pretty cool to know that I was playing with the best of the best, locally anyways. :-) Now you can understand why combo has been freaking me out all year, although they are all super nice about it.

Well, I must go to Mass for my Music History class. But that was last week pretty much in a nutshell.

February Slop

So after a freakish spell of snow last night, February is truly turning into slop. About 95% of the population has Spring fever. The mountains of snow are receding gradually. March is still a long way off.

School's been keeping me terribly busy. The Lionel Hampton Jazz festival is quickly approaching and I've been scrambling like a mad person to prepare. At the end of last semester I was contacted by Mead Middle School's choir director about accompanying a couple of choirs, and I agreed. It seemed at the time to be a relatively easy way of earning some extra cash.

That was before I found out Judith wanted every piano student on scholarship to audition at the SMTA adjudications. I got a panicked phone call from Bev Rhodes over Christmas break exhorting me to practice my Brahms and Haydn. Well, I would have, but I thought I only needed to audition if I was going to take lessons next year, which I unfortunately am not. I've been studying classical piano for 12 years now and I'm not looking to become a concert pianist. I just feel like I need to be focusing on jazz with the little time I have left. Unfortunately this doesn't change the fact that I have to participate in these adjudications, so in addition to pulling together some pieces for jazz combo and Mead I'm preparing for the first masterclass I'll have taken since junior high. Yay.

I am very excited for Hampton however. I haven't gone since high school and I've really missed it. I'm working hard to incorporate all the things I learned at the EWU jazz festival.

As for the rehearsals at Mead, let me just say that junior high is one of the most terrible institutions on the face of the earth. And middle school kids are so WEIRD! Especially the kids I was working with. Most of the girls look like Bubble Gum Barbie and the guys look like Ringo Starr with shaggier hair and low-slung jeans. Yeergh. And of course the little mini-adults all have attitudes the size of Bob Ross' hair. Don't know where that came from. I guess they are human on some level, but I'm not sure. Anyhow, I was glad I wasn't teaching them and I even more glad that I haven't succumbed to a music ed. degree. I think I'd rather live in a cardboard box. So I'll just have to remember that when the cardboard box becomes reality.

That's not the end however. I'm also a member of the Whitworthian staff this semester. This was something I kind of wanted to do last year, but it was terribly over-staffed. Now they actually need people. I don't know why I think I have the extra time to do this, but I've just completed my first assignment for them so I guess I'm on whether I like it or not.

Luckily classes haven't been too demanding so far. I'm very happy with my schedule this term. I have NO 8 o'clock classes, yay. I only have lessons on Tuesdays and Thursdays AND I've started taking 2 credits of jazz lessons so I'm hoping my playing will improve that much more. I have Music History I first thing MWF, which is cool even if Dr. Brody's lecture style is a little all over the place. Interpersonal Comm with Alan Mikkelson is hilarious and pretty easy. There are some cool people in that class. Business of Music is small and hasn't really picked up yet, but I'm hoping it will be useful. And Jazz in America is going to be really good for me as a jazz musician. I'll finally have a more solid jazz background and hopefully be exposed to some cool new stuff in the process. The guy who teaches that directed bi-county honor band back when I was in high school. He was the best director we ever had. He's quite the character. I don't know that I should elaborate here.

So that is my life at the moment. I just got back from a pretty good practice session at the music building. I'm going to try and get there at least once more today (I'm becoming a glutton for punishment!) Right now, though, I'm feeling kind of lazy. Almost like a nap, but not quite because I slept pretty late this morning. Hope your weekend is relaxing.

The Power of Music (An Incomplete Reflection)

I went to the symphony last night. It was no big deal, I've been to the symphony a lot as a college student. You really can't argue with $5 tickets. Even before college, I've pretty much grown up with the good old SSO. Of course I was excited for the concert, I always am. I was even more excited that it was going to be a Coeur d'Alene Symphony reunion of sorts. Katrina, Elizabeth, Angela, Laura, Amy, and Mac were all coming. The only person we were missing was Jason, who we lost to a girl. It's funny how that happens in college. People start dating and then you never see them again. I tend to forgive them for this slight. We were going to hear the Elgar cello concerto along with some other British music (Arnold Bax, Ralph Vaughn Williams, and one other guy I can't recall...)

Unfortunately there was another really cool concert going on at the exact same time. Jazz pianist Arnie Carruthers (the "right hand man") was playing at CenterStage! Now, this was a terribly important concert and I had been planning on attending ever since I'd heard of it. First off, Carruthers, who is something of a jazz great, is even more amazing seeing that he is paralyzed on one side of his body after suffering a stroke. He can only play with his right hand and my high school band director at least swore that you could not tell the difference.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJoKJgkvWTA

That is not all however. He was recently in a car accident and I think I read that he broke his back in 3 places. Yikes! Yet he is still going! I have never seen him live and I thought it would be quite amazing to watch this "triumph" of sorts. Obviously he's probably still recovering, but still! You must understand the significance of such a moment. But I'd already agreed on the symphony before I realized it conflicted, and even so I don't know that I could have found anyone to go with me. And I was excited to spend time with our Coeur d'Alene group.

The first half of the concert was okay. The music was pleasant but nothing really inspired me. I found my mind wandering, as often happens when I listen to music. I feel like I should be focusing on the moment and drinking it all in, but at the same time music has such a power to transport you to somewhere else that it's almost natural for the mind to wander. The second half began with slightly more promise. This piece (Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis, Vaughn Williams) was moving. It swelled and receded like, as Amy observed, the orchestra was breathing. Or, as I thought, like the sea. And I knew the best would be last. The Elgar cello concerto.

The solo, one renowned Alban Gerhardt walked on stage accompanied by Maestro Preu. Both took their places. And then Preu handed Gerhardt the microphone. And Gerhardt announced, in an accent that sounded more Scottish than anything else "I would like to dedicate this concert to my mother, she passed away this morning."

A very loud groan, almost a cry of pity, escaped from much of the audience. At that moment I knew that everyone would be on their feet at the end of the concerto, and it wouldn't have anything to do with the music. Gerhardt had asked for a moment of silence and so we sat, holding our collective breath and my eyes at least were focused on the cellist. It felt rude and obtrusive. I wanted to be able to look away, to leave him in privacy, as he sat there with his head bowed over his instrument. And yet I couldn't. I wished I knew him so that I could be more than just a staring stranger. As it was, I thought of what this concert would mean to him , I wondered what his mother had been like, I wondered what his beliefs about death were, and I thought of my own parents and wondered how many others were doing the same. And then the music started.

It was such an appropriate piece. I had never heard the Elgar cello concerto before, so I didn't know what to expect. I'm sure I will never hear it again with the same kind of power and emotion. It was one of the most powerful moments of music I have ever experienced. Angela observed later what I had been thinking at the time, that he was obviously grieving through his instrument. I felt privileged to share in this moment, and I also felt like I had no business being there, witnessing such a private expression of grief and loss.

I don't know what his relationship with his mother had been like, but as a musician I can guess. Because very rarely do musicians get to that level without the constant encouragement, prompting, and devotion of their parents. You have to start young, very young, if you're going to be a professional solo performer and that doesn't happen without having parents who are passionately devoted to music and who share that passion with you. Even when musicians come from non-musical families, the parents still must pay for the lessons, must encourage and prompt you to practice, and provide support in what is an extremely competitive field. I have experienced much of this, but obviously I'm not one of those who has practiced 3 to 5 hours a day since I was 6. But for musicians, parental influence is generally how it happens, how you "make it." And Gerhardt probably owed much of the fact that he was up there, on that stage, with that orchestra, to his mother.

On the one hand, I always feel a bit sorry for the solo performers. It is, from what I have read and heard, a grueling existence. Always traveling, generally by yourself. It's no wonder professionals of this type seem so stand-offish, what's the point of putting down any roots or establishing any relationships when you're just going to be plucked up again in a couple of days. You'd be constantly working with strangers, all for the thrill of doing what you love. It's a sacrifice of sorts, and I doubt it's much fun. And when things like this happen, you're somewhere on the other side of the world, and you just have to keep going. I absolutely can't imagine it, the isolation and the dedication and professionalism required to just keep at it. And yet I felt the concert was a tribute of sorts. For in music it is a tremendous achievement to get where Gerhardt is. And he's there. He made it and you know his mother must have been extremely proud.

Of course it's all surmise and over-active imagining on my part, yet this is why that concert was so amazingly powerful for me. Because I've often asserted that that's what music IS. It's a form of communication. It's a way of expressing your feelings when words just fail. It's one of the most intimate forms of communication there is. And the whole time my attention was centered right there on that stage. It was like I was standing up there. I wanted to make sure this concert honored his mother properly, even though I was just a stranger who wouldn't have known him from Adam the day before. It was striking to me how he cradled and rocked his instrument, just how affectionately he played. It was mesmerizing I suppose. I can't really completely describe exactly what it felt like to be sitting in the audience witnessing this profound moment, this moment that so expressed what music is about.

And as I was so intensely focused on that stage, part of me was also thinking of the Arnie Carruthers concert just across the street. Here, in town, were 2 immensely expressive musical moments. Arnie Carruthers was sitting at a piano again, in a sort of defiant gesture. And Alban Gerhardt was sitting in front of me, playing for his mother. And when it was over, we surged to our feet and expressed our appreciation and sympathy as best we could. It had been wonderful music, but not because all the accents were right or the phrasing was perfect or the interpretation was so beautiful. It was because, at least for me, I wanted him to feel that he had done well. And when he played his encore, I felt that if anyone deserved that honor he did. I haven't really said all I wanted to say, but it's kind of impossible, and I'm kind of at the end of my ability as an outsider and a stranger witnessing one of the defining moments of someone's life.

P.S. I am painfully aware that sometimes, rather than expressing something music cheapens it. We've all been to funerals where they play some tediously trite song and you think "that's all wrong." I'm leaving this disclaimer so that this post doesn't seem overly-sentimental or cheapen what really was a profoundly moving experience. My point is that even though the music used to express certain moments may not always be appropriate, it doesn't have to be that way. Music is capable of sensitive and intelligent expression of real human experiences.

Lost in the Darkness...

Silence surrounds you... Once there was morning... Okay I'm done.

So, much has happened. Friday was my last day of cross country skiing, and consequently we were making an excursion. We were going to try back country skiing, which is skiing without trails of course. You can only do this on classic skis, and we even got special ones that were wider to make it easier. We were aiming for the summit of Mt. Spokane, although our instructor wasn't sure how far we would make it. I actually brought along my iPod. After suffering one intensely awkward bus ride back, where it was so crowded everyone got separated and I had to sit next to some random sleeping guy I vowed never to go without it. But since we were taking our backpacks with us I couldn't very well leave my iPod in the lodge, so I tucked it in my coat's special iPod pocket (yes, my coat actually has a special iPod pocket and let me say right now that despite numerous falls and freezing temperatures the beloved gadget is safe and functioning properly).

I was near the end of the skiing line, as usual, and I felt sort of sacrilegious but I did listen to my iPod a bit during our ascent. It was really difficult at points. The ascent, not the iPod. We all went single-file, which meant there was a pretty good track for me to ski on. But in order to go up the mountain properly we had to make "switchbacks" which involved sharp turns and awkward feet positions. At one point John lost one of his skis, which almost slid all the way down the very steep slope. As we got closer to the top I did switch off my music and just enjoyed the silence of the snow and the increasingly magnificent view. When we came out of the trees we quit using the switchbacks and started walking straight up the very steep mountain. Trust me, the picture does not do it justice. The little black dot is me by the way.

So after we had completed the harrowing climb up bald mountain as it were, we stood in the wind and admired the beautiful sunset. How breathtaking! Ha. Ha. The wind, get it? Oh dear that was AWFUL! It's difficult to blog while listening to Car Talk. Okay, insert picture of sunset.


While we were admiring this majestic display, we started thinking about what happens after the sunset. Namely, darkness. Our instructor had already thought about this. Quote: "Okay troops, everybody get down the mountain! I don't care HOW you get down, just get down!" Well, the level of steepness was somewhere around kamikaze skiing. The primary descent strategy was to snowplow until you were going too fast, and then stop the only way we knew how to stop: crashing. This was not the most pleasant. So some of us figured out how to use our skis as makeshift sleds. We made it down the slope, and then somehow one of our group thought that it would be a good idea to go off on his own. Our instructor decided it would be a good idea to go after him. He was pretty sure we were on the right path, so he told us to just keep skiing until we hit the road and we could just take that down. Unfortunately the road didn't materialize. In fact, we found we were going up, not down, and this seemed wrong somehow. And then we hit the dead end...

It was decided that we would try to find another way down the mountain. By this point we were all freezing, although I didn't start thinking about hypothermia until half an hour later or so. Some of the boys in our group really took charge and everyone worked together really well, which is always nice when you're lost on a cold mountain. We took off our skis and began walking down, which was really difficult considering the snow was several feet deep. My legs were really stiff at this point, a combination of cold and fatigue I'm sure. Did I mention I'd ripped a monster hole in my snow pants the day before? Yeah, that didn't help. I felt like the BIGGEST dork. Some guy offered to carry my skis for me, and I begrudgingly let him. I generally prefer to take care of myself thanks, but I figured it wasn't worth slowing the entire group down. I kept the poles though. I felt like a complete idiot walking around with the poles, but I couldn't really bend my knees and they were helpful. It took my pride down a couple of pegs.

The sun had all but disappeared and it began to look like were going to have to start screaming in hopes that someone would hear us when we finally saw light! It was a small radio tower. Who knows what it was for, but it had a lot of computers and it was warm. Everyone was standing around outside but I was really, really cold so I decided to go inside even though I felt like even more of a weakling in the process. Fortunately everybody else soon followed my example.


We had been hoping to call ski patrol or 911 or something, and there was a service phone in the building, but for some odd reason it didn't work. Luckily one guy was able to get cell reception. So he called his dad. In Portland. We were able to tell him our location through various documents in the radio shack, and then his dad was able to call Mt. Spokane ski patrol. From Portland. All that we had left to do was wait. So... we shared snacks! I had some dried mangoes, and someone else had goldfish, there was also a tangerine and luna bars and people melted snow in their depleted water bottles. There was a certain feeling of crowded camaraderie as we passed around our meager supplies while thinking of the delicious Saga dinner we were missing. ("It's not all for one, it's all for everybody!") We also thought of the final that we were not going to have to take because we were already an hour or so late for the bus. All in all, it was a bonding experience, a test of strength and courage among fellow men. We returned to the lodge with a feeling of triumph. We had overcome the darkness and found our own warmth of friendship. I hope you're not actually swallowing this inspirational drivel. :-)

And that was how we got lost on Mt. Spokane. It all turned out okay and it makes for a good story and we all made our peace with God in the process.

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Now playing: Switchfoot - I Dare You to Move
via FoxyTunes

Cross Country Skiing

Cross Country Skiing - v. - the process of torturing, exhausting, and otherwise killing oneself in the name of exercise and pretty scenery.

I do love X country. But it is harrowing. I never knew before that there was more than one kind. The kind I did know about is "Classic," which can be tiring but is fairly manageable even for the out-of-shape. I had done this before and hadn't remembered it being so very hard so I was surprised on the first day of class when I was falling all over myself just like everybody else, as if I'd never done it before. Granted it had been a while.

But just as we were starting to get the hang of that, we switched to "Skate Skiing" which is simply another name for Hell. Don't get me wrong. I love it. You go a lot faster than on classic. But. You kind of die in the process. I haven't been so sore in a long time. You see, skate skiing is basically running on skis. Not the easiest of things to do.

Our instructor warned us of the pain to come. He's a pretty solid-looking guy who has been skiing for quite a long time and who tends to laugh in a sinister manner whenever introducing something new. For instance. "We'll be skate skiing today. The arches of your feet are really going to hurt tomorrow. Hehhehhehheh." Actually, everything hurt. Arms, legs, back. feet, anywhere from the shoulders down was fair game.

It isn't easy to learn either. There's a certain stepping motion that requires a certain kind of balance if you're going to glide, which is the point of course. Otherwise you're just kind of walking around with planks attached to your feet, in which case you may as well just trade your skis for some snowshoes. The other thing you have to figure out is how to use your poles correctly. In order to better learn this, our instructor, who remember has kind of a sadistic sense of humor, had us walk around in circles using our poles but not our skis. There are quite a few very experienced skiers using the trails, and so they're zooming by us while we're all walking in a circle with our stupid poles looking quite like idiots. And I was wondering "Is this really necessary?" and watching our instructor to see if he had that smirk he gets sometimes and I still kind of suspect that it was just a private joke on his part. One especially good skier wears this red spandex and flies through the intersections at about 100 mph. On these occasions we completely disregard our instructor and all stop and stare in awe (despite the spandex) as he flies by.

Another time we were doing a drill (on skies this time, thank goodness) and going in circles and somehow managed to completely trap a mother and her son in the center. They were just staring out at us as we, the salmon run, kept swirling by, completely trapped and increasingly desperate for an opening. It was ridiculous.

But we get a lot of free time to just ski around. Granted by then we're completely exhausted and sore but we ski anyways because we're paying good money dang it. The other day we caught a beautiful sunset and so we simply sat in the snow (completely not cold) and watched it set and spelled the word "llAMA" with our skis because we're in college. And when we got back to the lodge (which really isn't as warm and cozy as the word implies it should be) there was a rainbow and I don't think I've ever seen a rainbow in the winter before. And the moon was rising as the sun was setting. It was gorgeous. Which combined with the completely snow-covered trees and peacefulness of the trails is why I chose cross-country over downhill or snowboarding in the first place. I would love to snowboard, but I'm more the X country type. It's like taking a hike, only the scenery goes by faster and you don't get cold in the snow. This week we're going all the way to a mountain summet, and as exhausted as I'll be I really hope we make it to the top. Because I love mountains.

I love mountains more than I love the sea (which I haven't been around much and which is too crowded anyways). And I love snow and even cold. It's almost like a challenge. Anyone can go out in the sun and enjoy the weather and lay there and bake. But it takes a real steel of resolve to brave nature in its cold unfriendly state. And yet there's something so peaceful and quiet about winter, which is less like death than it is like sleep (and if you believe in an afterlife than death and sleep are kind of similar in any case). Now I must really go and write my paper, which is luckily assigned today and not tomorrow (which is skiing day). I've only had one day where I've had to write a paper on skiing day and it was horrible. I just wanted to pass out the whole time. If I put this paper off any longer though, I'll probably be up far too late and there's no call for that. Happy winter.

"Your homework for the weekend is watch lots of movies"

Did I mention it was 3 degrees outside this morning? And yet there will always be at least one person on campus wearing shorts. I have a paper to write tonight, but here I am updating ye olde blog, which is the way of blogging I think. I had a lovely 3-day weekend though, with no homework to boot, which is probably part of the reason I have lost all motivation. And I was doing so very well.

But the weekend was a very good one and I did heed my professor's advice and watch lots of movies. The first of which being Groundhog Day with my podmates. Since Sally's arrival things have been much more harmonious in our pod. I think it's an after-affect of trying to make Sally feel at home, we're all growing closer as a result. I can't imagine what it would be like to transfer, so I've been trying to do my bit to help her transition smoothly. Luckily her and Anna are getting along very well. At times I'm reminded of the antics my first year in BJ as we all got to know each other.

Exhausted from cross country skiing, I slept for 12 hours Friday night. I awoke at 10:00 to find my roommate still slumbering above me. At least, I was pretty sure she was up there. I can't always tell. I think at least once I've been creeping around in the dark when I was the only one in the room, but I like to play it safe. :-) I learned later that she didn't arise until 12:00, which is surprisingly something I haven't done in a very long time. It was one of the loveliest Saturdays. I ate a leisurely (I've never noticed before how close this word is to the word "liege," makes sense though) anyhow, ate breakfast at a liege-like pace and finished Over Sea, Under Stone, a children's book by Susan Cooper that I wish I had known of when I was younger.

I was inspired by Over Sea, Under Stone to go to the library in search of Le Morte d'Arthur and got completely carried away and checked out 4 books. I always get carried away at libraries. I wish the time you spent reading books didn't "count" towards actual time spent in the day. But it does. So I always lose my head and come home with piles of books, most of which I will never finish but simply have the enjoyment of anticipating and looking at and turning about in my hands. Right beside Le Morte d'Arthur was Tolkien's edition of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and then I remembered that book on films that Professor Neder had recommended... It just gets completely out of hand.

You know, I haven't even completely read The Once and Future King, and I'm trying to wolf down it's source material. I've tried a couple of times. The first was in high school, at exactly the same that I was in my first CYT production, Robin Hood. I appeared tremendously intelligent and geeky by knowing all sorts of things about jousts and such. But by the time I got past The Sword in the Stone and got to Arthur's adulterous love affairs my 14-year-old sensibilities were quite shocked and I refused to read the trash. But during one summer at CO-AG I was desperate for reading material and a little more grown up besides and I came within about 10 pages of the ending but I never did finish it. I think summer ended. And now, if I ever want to finish it, I shall simply have to read the whole thing over again, because that's how I am with books.

I really should stop using this blog as a journal but I feel like at least I'm recording something. I mean, it's really nice to be able to look back on freshman year and remember all those experiences in such vivid detail, so on we plunge. I had tremendous fun accompanying Katrina reading through music from the French musical Le Roi Soleil. Katrina's obsessed (if you're reading this now, hi), but I can't really blame her. The music is quite good. I felt like such a show off, but I was at the same time extremely pleased at my improved sight-reading. I was tearing through this stuff and I'd never even heard it before. Progress! In between songs I generally was a terrible show off and messed about on the piano while Katrina decided what to sing next. And you know something? It sounded good. Like I knew what I was doing. Like I had complete control of the piano, which I don't. Yet. Actually, complete control's kind of a utopian ideal, but it's something to reach for and not near so far off as a couple years ago.

Our music making was cut short by a scheduled viewing of Northanger Abbey. The new adaptation is quite wonderful. I highly recommend. J.J. Fields does a marvelous job as Henry Tilney and Felicity Jones plays Catherine perfectly. It's almost made me give up my dreams of travel though. Explanation: I hate the way I talk. It's complicated. It partially comes of sharing a room with a French major, who is I understand only trying to help me but I'm afraid it's a lost cause. I've always had trouble with my "a" sounds. I can only really distinctly hear 2 when in English there are 3. So, for instance, I can't pronounce "bag" properly, or "Bath" which is how this rant got started. This among other things makes it apparent that my accent is always going to be dreadful, except when speaking German because for some reason that's almost like a mother tongue to me. Anyhow, every once in a while I will try and be intelligent and clever by mentioning such and such a book or quoting something only to find I sound like a complete ass because I can't say the da#*ed thing properly. So I take short cuts whenever I can, which partially requires me translating foreign things into English, but it's humiliating in any case.

Okay, onwards. Sunday was similarly lazy. I got to see most of Le Roi Soleil which Katrina has on DVD. Slight drawback, it's all in French with no subtitles. There is also something particularly intimidating and alienating about being surrounded by a bunch of friends who are speaking another language. Obviously, it was a French class activity and it was my choice to come, so I'm not complaining, but I'm just observing. I enjoyed the music and between songs I made up my own plot. It involved Ursula from The Little Mermaid, and a plot to submerge all of France, and Dracula, and Tinker Bell, and Ariel was in love with Louis XIV... Ummmm, yeah. I suppose Louis looks fairly attractive here, if somewhat like a girl (which was of course simply the fashion at the time). But I was under the impression that in real life he was somewhat like Ben Franklin, not so attractive and a little on the chubby side but still quite the ladies' man.

Monday was... Well, I can't quite remember what I did do. But I had a fun time playing Apples to Apples with the girls in 204 during which "carnies" were paired with "handsome," "meat cleavers" were considered "courageous" and "my love life" was deemed by myself to be "miserable." :-) Also watched several episodes of Monk, which is a wonderfully Sherlockian. And that's pretty much it and probably all we have time for. If you read all this, you're either a really good friend or a really bored soul. My prayers for you.

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Now playing: Le Roi Soleil Cast - S'Aimer Est Interdit
via FoxyTunes

Extreme Sledding!

I was quite disappointed when it started raining on Saturday because that was the day Angela had invited a group of us to go sledding near her home in Idaho. Amy, Elizabeth, Beth, and I all piled into Katrina's van and made our soggy way towards Coeur d'Alene with dim thoughts of mushy wet snow and mud. But we would be with friends, and that was still something to look forward to.

We arrived at Angela's beautiful home, were greeted by her wonderful parents, "brother" Nurbeck, and friend Eric, and her very friendly cat Midnight. After pulling on our snow gear and re-assigning ourselves to cars we followed Eric on a mysterious journey into increasingly treacherous mountainous territory. Rain turned to snow. Katrina amazed us all by navigating up the slick roads to the parking lot. And we got out and followed Eric up what I can only describe as a mountain path. It was quite arduous. Once we got to the top and collapsed from the steep ascent Eric looked at us brightly and said "Who wants to be first?"

Now, let's be clear. I was under the impression that the harrowing mountain path was simply a way to get to our destination, which would be a treeless sledding hill on the other side. But the mountain path was the sledding hill, and let me tell you right now that it looked to me exactly like a bob sled course. We all kind of gazed down the steep gradation and the twisting white path that carved its way through the trees and I found myself wondering if one of us might die. But Eric, happy as a puppy on Christmas, hopped on his sled to go first because "it would make it faster for the rest of us." We all said a silent prayer.

I may be over-dramatizing slightly, but not much. It actually was probably the most fun I've had sledding in my entire existence. I'm simply used to sledding out on the farm, which is impressive enough on the rolling hills of the Palouse. But we don't have trees everywhere. And we're not in the mountains. It was tremendously fun though, and we had several snowball fights in between sled runs while catching our breath, and Katrina made a snowgirl that looked like she was from Fraggle Rock which I've never actually seen really. We even made a couple of "sled chains" which fell apart quickly and surprisingly didn't cause any major injuries. We were all completely soaked by the time we came back, but Angela's mom (who is one of the most amazing mom's on the planet) made us amazing chile with cornbread and salad and cookies to follow. And we played one of the most creative games of telepictionary known to mankind. All in all, it was altogether too much fun, which is generally the case when you start feeling like your 8-years-old again.

Jan-term at Home

Jan-term at Whitworth is nice. You take one course and maybe a PE class and that's all you do for a month. Or you study abroad, which I did last year. It's great for people who don't have the time/money for a whole semester abroad. And if you're on campus, everything's more laid back. You go to class for maybe 3 hours a day, do your homework, and spend the rest of your time with friends or reading what you want to or watching movies or practicing. Whatever.

This semester I'm taking Theology and Film, which is taught by one of my favorite professors. It is NOT just watching movies. We have to write a paper on every film we watch and since we watch a film every other day... Plus we have readings, quizzes, and class discussions. People seem to have this impression that because it's a film class you don't do any work. We've been watching some really dark films. We started with The Station Agent, which isn't so much dark as it is strange. I didn't really care for it, even though I recognize it is well-done. We also watched A Simple Plan which is one of the most frightening movies I've ever seen. Nevertheless it provided a lot of material for us to talk about the nature of sin (especially avarice) and so forth.

I've been REALLY enjoying the snow outside. We have SO MUCH! It's great. There's a dorm-wide snowball fight in like 8 minutes and I was going to participate, but I'm feeling really lazy, so maybe not.

But other than that life has been pretty slow. Our pod has a new member. Since Anna's roommate got kicked out we had extra space. Sally seems really nice and Anna says they have a lot in common. I'm so glad she's getting a good experience with a roommate.

So, as long as I stay on top of my studies I have the chance to do cool things with friends. I go cross country skiing for my PE class every Wednesday and Friday, which is awesome. I've always wanted to live by a mountain. Maybe somewhere in Canada. That'd be amazing. Also, PBS is showing the complete Jane Austen novels on Masterpiece Theatre. Every Sunday at 9:00 there's going to be free amazingness. You should watch it. It is beautiful.

The Scariest Christmas Pageant Ever

Christmas pageants aren't exactly a tradition at my church. Basically while I was growing up nobody had the desire to wrestle a group of kids into angel costumes and then attempt to teach them 5 Christmas carols while keeping them from killing each other. But recently, one such brave soul as emerged from the congregation. Lisa and her husband Jason were my youth group leaders for a couple of years while I was in high school and I've always respected them as people. But even moreso now that Lisa has become the director of the annual children's Christmas pageant.

The first year she went all out. She found a creative script, worked hard on casting, and came out with a moderately entertaining display of cuteness with minimal mishaps. I'm not a huge fan of Christmas pageants myself. I'm sure I'd feel differently if I had a child that was in one, but for the rest of us, well... Let's just say that we don't find little Tommy's portrayal of Joseph quite as riveting. Still the kids are cute for a while, and the second year, while not as high-maintenance as the first, was tolerable. And then there was this year.

It began much as last year's. Lisa's penchant for perfectionism meant she was actually directing the kids with a conducting pattern. Unfortunately this meant that some of the younger ones, instead of making the appropriate hand motions, simply mimicked the conducting pattern as they sang. It was cute. Okay, so I'm sure Lisa was mortified by the technical/sound glitches that kept occurring. Nobody else really cared of course. The kids can't really carry a tune so what does it matter if the music is playing? And they were relatively minor. We were laughing at the awkwardness that naturally accompanies little children on stage. And then Jason ran past the audience with a stethoscope around his neck.

My sister told me that she was wondering if he was supposed to be part of the pageant. A doctor for baby Jesus? That's kind of weird. And why didn't they have one of the kids playing that part? These musings were cut short when three members of the Emergency Medical Service followed Jason back past the audience through the door to the adjacent stairwell. A quick look out the window revealed an ambulance. Okaaaayyyy, now I was freaking out. My initial thought was that one of the older members of the congregation was suffering a heart attack. My sister said she even began to wonder if Mom or Dad were the cause of the ambulance. A quick glance around the room revealed them sitting in the back, but we were still in the dark as to what was going on behind that door. Meanwhile the kids were manfully continuing with their program. The EMTs rushed past again. By this point nobody was really paying attention to the kids. Then Lisa stopped the music and announced that we were going to let them "do their job" and then continue with the next song.

Pastor Mark directed us as we widened the aisle and then the EMTs walked by again pushing a gurney. I looked down at my program and discovered that the next song, which was supposed to be performed with the congregation, was "Good Christian Men Rejoice." Wonderful. Somebody was dying and we were about to break out into a rousing chorus of "Good Christian men rejoiiiice, with heart and soul and voiiiice..." People began to whisper to each other. Some laughed nervously. "This will be a Christmas pageant to remember," my sister commented. "Yeah... but, it's not something that you really want..." I trailed off, wondering who was back there on the stairwell and just how bad it was. I kept waiting for Pastor Mark to make an announcement and let us know what was going on. Maybe he could lead us in a time of prayer. You know "Dear Lord, we would just like to offer up so-and-so to you during this time. We ask for your hand of healing." Etc. etc. But nothing. So there we were, sitting with various morbid thoughts and on tenterhooks to know who it was. Suddenly the stage curtains were drawn. Supposedly to protect the little kids from the gruesome sight that was about to greet the rest of us. We watched as their scare little faces disappeared behind the scarlet folds and I wondered... If this wasn't appropriate for children what the heck were we still doing in the room. Couldn't we go upstairs? Maybe I should shut my eyes... And then...

The great unveiling! Every eye locked on the door as it opened and slowly the EMTs wheeled out... Well, it wouldn't make any difference to you if I said her name or not but I figure she's already been through embarrassing enough an ordeal without having her name mentioned here. It was not an old lady. In fact we were all quite surprised. Except for the choir who, apparently, knew what was going on the whole time... Now, it still wasn't funny. Her arm was in a cast and she obviously wasn't doing too well. And it was awful as we all stared and stared, heads turning, gasps escaping from our lips and audible cries of "oh! it's her!" I was so thoroughly ashamed of myself and yet I couldn't stop watching the absurd procession. What an awful thing for anyone to go through, being wheeled past a large crowd of people.

Only after this shameful exhibition did Pastor Mark explain that the unfortunate victim had fallen down the stairs and collided with the cement wall that was unfortunately at the bottom. She'd broken her arm in several places and hit her head. Gee, that would have been nice to know BEFORE we all gaped at her like codfish or spent 10 minutes of agony over who was supposedly dying. The curtain opened. The music resumed. We all cleared our throats and began to sing...

"Good Christian men rejoiiiice! With heart and soul and voiiice!" I allowed myself to improvise some new lyrics. "Somebody has broke an arm! News! News! She's going to the hospital!" To say the least, it was a pretty absurd Christmas program.

How Long Must This Go On?

This cruel twist of fate... I simply made one careless wrong decision! (Name that musical!) I'm sitting in the music building. I could have been home by now. It stinks. I checked out of my room at 11:00, but I had a couple of errands to run.

1) Pick up a couple of DVDs of the choir concert for my roommate and mail them to her because she had to leave yesterday.

2) Make a copy of a few CDs for myself.

No problem with number one, but someone decided to make a copy of every CD existent in the music building so I've been sitting her for about an hour and a half. Well, there are pianos available but I'm pretty sick of practice rooms at this point. Yay me.

Jazz Juries. :-) ?

So, you may remember the disaster that was my jazz jury last spring. Well friends, I think I've redeemed myself. I just went through the ordeal for this semester and, while not spectacular, was a definite improvement. Even Keberle said I'd improved. It's so nice to be back on that page instead of the disappointed looks of anguish page. I had a few memory slips (which was ridiculous because I knew those songs cold. I could probably recite the chord progression), but I think I managed to prove that I really did know it when I came to that section again. And some really good solo stuff happened. Like I said, there were some nerve things, but on the whole they seemed pleased and I wasn't disappointed with my progress. Hopefully as I develop as a player I'll be able to overcome my performance anxiety. I think it's already happening, so I hope it continues. And I feel like for every mistake I did something really good. Well, at least kind of good. Ish. Anyhow, now I'm rebounding from the emotional roller coaster that always happens when I perform so this is mostly just an outlet.

Just a small postscript to this. Do you realize how incredibly awkward jazz juries really are? Three legit jazz musicians staring at you while you try to play solo piano... Awkwaaard. And this time there was the odd smiling and head nodding (soooo awkward! I think Keberle was laughing at me during the Gershwin too... I just don't know!) but they can't let you know how you actually DID... You have to wait until spring semester for that. Then you get to cringe over their written comments and relive the experience all over again. Ahhhh music. I so don't understand why the heck I'm doing this sometimes.

The Week of Finals

It's here, in all its glory. And actually, it's pretty manageable, even with all of the other stuff I've been doing. I like doing fun things on weekends. Like going to surprise parties for friends' birthdays and watching My Fair Lady until 3:00a.m. on Friday. Or going to the Davenport (again!) with my parents and Elizabeth and then going to the Christmas Festival concert and THEN going to a Jenkins East reunion Christmas party on Saturday. The Christmas party was actually really great because not only did we watch Elf, but we called our old R.A. via Skype. Skype is like internet-phone, only you use a video camera so you can see the person you're talking to. Emily, my freshman R.A. (resident assistant) has been living in Thailand on some "teach in a foreign country" program. So it was really cool to talk to her. Then one Sunday I got to hear my friend Amy play organ, went to a candlelight chapel service, and sang Christmas carols at President B-Rob's house. Good weekend. Believe it or not I got some studying in too.

So now, I've just finished my last Core test. I have jazz juries tonight (I'm a applying for a scholarship... Fingers crossed!) Publicity and Public Relations presentation tomorrow. Finanacial Accounting final Wednesday. Conducting final on Thursday (and piano juries), and my last Core paper due on Friday. I can do it! Good luck to everyone else who has finals this week or within the month!

I'm Old and Boring

So I should be sleeping, but I just went back and read some old blog posts from sophomore/freshman year. And I realized I've changed a lot just in the span of 2 years. Which is kind of unsettling, but definitely a good thing. I was really neurotic at times wasn't I?

When You Should Be Doing Homework

I've actually gotten pretty good at this practicing every day thing. Now it's the homework that I put off.

With that said, Thanksgiving break was amazing, albeit way too short. I managed to practice a lot, and read a ton of Greek mythology. I was planning on reading Norse mythology, but the book I got had a lot of different things so I read the entire Greek section, some of the Roman, and have started on Irish and Celtic. :-) I was never so happy being a dork. Except when I play music. I don't think there's such a thing as a jazz dork though. Well, maybe.

Thanksgiving proper was lovely. We actually had a bit of snow on the hills/mountains behind my house. A few of us went on a short hike through said hills. My cousin's family brought along their new dog/puppy, who has enough energy I'm sure he could become the alternative fuel source to petroleum everyone's looking for, if we just knew how to harness him. I got to see my "uncle" Larry for the first time in over a year or so. And we actually managed to be polite to each other, almost. ;-) So it was a good time with lots of good food and family, as it should be.

But now I'm back, obviously, and I only have one more week in which to get everything done before finals. Yikes. I think I can I think I can.

So I would just like to say that my jazz prof, the Amazing Brent Edstrom, is amazing! I went to the premiere of his concerto for jazz piano and orchestra at the Coeur d'Alene Symphony on Saturday and what can be said but that the man is a genius? It was really fantastic. Brent has such amazing piano technique and he really knows his stuff so his writing is always really solid. I've heard a couple of his pieces before, but this work was really extensive (6 movements!) with a lot of technical demands. It was great to hear him play and even better that I got to sit with about 8 other Whitworth students who were similarly in awe. Afterwards we brought him our programs to sign, and he was surprised that we wanted him to sign them! Does he think most people just sit down and write 6-movement concertos every day? It was almost kind of a weird role reversal because I was congratulating him and telling him he did a good job and you generally don't get the chance to tell your teacher something like that. So it was a great opportunity not only to hear some good music and support a member of Whitworth's great faculty, but to express my appreciation for all the time and effort he puts into teaching.

And THEN today I got to my first Spokane Symphony concert in the Fox! SO COOL! Number one, acoustics. Soooo much better than the Opera House. The music is right there, in your face, all around you. It's like you're listening to it on headphones, only it's live. And the view from the balcony is perfect, I could see all the musicians which was great because I not only got to listen but I was able to follow what the orchestra was doing by actually seeing the different sections work together. The concert itself was brilliant. The overture to Mozart's Magic Flute (meh, it's fun), a Chopin piano concerto played by Cecile Licad (a gorgeous piece played stunningly), and Stravinsky's Rite of Spring (My favorite! Stravinsky ROCKS!) I was afraid I'd have to experience this wonderfullness by myself, but luckily I ran into someone at lunch who said Laura (piano performance major/friend of mine) was dying to go to the symphony concert but didn't have a ride. So I ran and got her straight away and after buying student rush tickets we did homework in the lobby of the Davenport, which made us feel distinguished.

So now that I have once again proved that I am a music nerd, my weekend is over and I have to hope that I will make it through the next week. Even if I don't though, I'm not sure that I care.

So You're Sitting at Home, Eating Ice Cream, and Feeling Gross

I opted not to go home this afternoon for a few reasons. One being that they're watching Shadowlands in C.S. Lewis and I want to watch it with my friends. But it would be far too dorky to stay for that reason alone, so the other reason is that the window people are at my house installing windows and I don't really want to deal with that. Well, they aren't now but I figured I had to stay late enough that I may as well crash C.S. Lewis and see my friends. So I'm sitting in Weyerhaueser, feeling like a dork, and I'm sitting in Weyerhaueser... Okay, so there's a reference in here that you probably aren't getting. But it makes sense to me, because I feel like a dork...