28 posts tagged “in which i am a dork”

Remember this?

IT'S HAPPENING, PEOPLE.

Joie is going to see Wicked in Los Angeles on Thursday, May 22nd.

...Excitement cannot be put into type.  Except by saying, "OMFGZ I'M SO EXCITEEEEEDDDDD!!!11!1ONEONE!!!111!"

Coffee is a fairly regular event for me; I'm not necessarily a cup-a-day gal, but at least a cup every other day, and especially on Mondays/Wednesdays/Fridays, my early days.  So when, on Thursday, I ran out of coffee for the first time ever, I knew we had a potentially dangerous situation on our hands.  However, I'm an idiot and forgot to get to the store, and so Friday morning came along with my 9:00am Spanish class, and I went uncaffeinated and unprepared to discuss anything in Spanish.  The initial "conversation" with my profesora that we start every class with went woefully bad; I hate being the student that answers every questions with "uh" or "yes" or "what?"  So Friday night a trip to the grocery store was more than necessary.

Usually my grandmother buys me coffee, and I love what she gets me, so I grabbed a bag of that.  (I know a great deal about drinking coffee--pour it in a cup, bring cup to mouth, sip carefully, still manage to burn inside of mouth, swallow, repeat--but I know nothing about coffee.)  I think I did notice something about "AMERICA'S FAVORITE WHOLE BEAN COFFEE OMGZ YAY!" on the bag (probably minus the "omgz yay"), but I just thought these were silly marketing terms: of course the coffee is made from whole beans, I thought, and happily purchased my coffee.

This morning I woke up at a not-so-early 11 in the morning (hey, I did go to bed at 3, okay?) and decided that nothing would be better than a Saturday morning-ish cup of coffee.  I start to open the bag, again notice the words "WHOLE BEAN" plastered all over the bag--geez, they are really pushing that issue, eh?--and notice, "Well, this feels lumpy."  And then I open the bag and notice AMERICA'S FAVORITE.... whole beans.  You know.  As in beans, that are whole, and not ground.  Oops...

So I did what any self-respecting college student caffeine junkie would do:  I put some beans in a ziploc bag, grabbed a hammer (note that I did not miss an opportunity to say out loud, "Stop!  It's hammer time,"), and went outside in all my morning fug to bang the shit out of some coffee beans, and to hell with whoever sees me doing this (which ultimately included all passing traffic on Highway 119 and one of my male neighbors).

This process yielded a not-so-fine-but-possibly-workable coffee crumble, which I have tossed in the coffee maker and am about to enjoy taste experience.

My senior recital... was basically everything I hoped it would be.  I can't even begin to describe it thoroughly or accurately.  I went to my early classes, but skipped wind ensemble to go in pursuit of more pedal-appropriate shoes (the ones I had, though adorable, were a slight distraction to me given that they're about 4 inches tall and can make tricky pedaling a bigger challenge).  I was expecting this trip to be a bit of a waste of time (although I recognized the important therapeutic benefits of going shoe shopping to calm oneself) when, after just 15 minutes at the shopping center, I walk into Belk, find the absolute perfect pair of shoes:  black, strappy, cute, short and not-pointy heel, and OH BTW ON SALE FOR $20.  They had two sizes left:  6 and 7 1/2; my size 8-8 1/2 feet slid in comfortably and though the heel bordered on the edge of the shoe, all was well in Toe Land and Comfortville.   A SERENDIPITOUS SHOE EXPERIENCE, INDEED.

Okay, that part I can begin to describe thoroughly and accurately.  What I can't describe is what it's like wondering if when you get out on stage, you'll forget how to play the piano altogether; what it's like standing slightly off-stage, listening to more and more people file in (we had 90 programs and apparently ran out); what it's like as the stage manager calls up to the whoever and gives the order to cut the house lights; what it's like to walk out onto a brightly lit stage with the most gorgeous piano you've ever laid eyes on while all of your college friends and a surprising number of your high school ones are clapping and waiting for you to play it.  I can't describe well sitting down and the tremendous force of will it takes to make yourself just start (a problem vocalists or instrumentalists may not generally have, as they're just sort of shoved out of the airplane by their accompanist), or that truly magical feeling when you overcome your nerves, remember how much you love the music, and manage to start enjoying the experience.  Dare I say it?  I had a BLAST.  Performance anxiety Joie, the girl whose lack of formal piano education up till college has given her some sort of inferiority complex, loved giving a piano half-recital. 

And now, what I really can't describe:  sitting backstage and listening to your amazingly talented peers play 30 minutes of music you composed.  That's all I can say, because it was an experience to which words just don't do justice.  There are few times in my entire life that I've been so happy.  And may I just say, the second bow thing?  Pretty much the coolest perk of a recital ever.  "Look at me and clap!  Continue clapping so that you may look at me again!"  Magic, baby!

I had to get all that out.  I'm so thankful for this amazing, once in a lifetime opportunity.  I spent literally four years waiting for that day to come, and never thought it would get here.  Now that it's over, I'm a mixture of sad and relieved... but I don't think I could've hoped for a better overall experience.

My astonishing lack of concern for school this semester (at least, relative to previous semesters) has given me much more time to read.  A quick post about what I have read or am reading:

Atonement

I generally prefer to read books before seeing the movie, but I don't think I made a mistake in seeing the movie first on this one.  The film was pretty much an exact replication of the book, which I enjoyed.  I love and recommend both; I even got Amsterdam, another book by Ian McEwan (geez, I always want to say Ian McKellan), though I haven't started it yet.

Fight Club: A Novel

Another instance of (finally) getting to the book after the movie.  I love the movie, and between my own enjoyment of it and an ex-boyfriend's obsession with it, I've probably seen it a bajillion times (I'm not complaining).  But the book... meh.  There's something lacking.  This is the second Chuck Palahniuk book I've read (Lullaby being the first), but I cannot get into it and haven't touched it in several weeks.  All those lines that I loved hearing Edward Norton say in the movie just don't have the same impact when read silently; in fact, they annoy me.  Maybe I've just seen the movie too many times.

The Lovely Bones: Deluxe Edition

I picked this up from the library after Fight Club was proving a disappointment and after seeing Jen talk about it.  I had no trouble getting through this one.  Well--let me rephrase.  I had no trouble with the writing and enjoyed the story, but there's some pretty graphic, very depressing stuff in there.  I was quite addicted to it, though, and found myself doing that creepy, possibly-early-sign-of-some-form-of-mental-illness thing of thinking/narrating in the style of whomever I'm reading.  I'm too lazy to explain.  I recommend it, but... I'm not sure how I feel about two events from the last few chapters.  I won't go into it, and they certainly didn't ruin anything for me, but I just finished it tonight and I'm still contemplating how well they worked.

The Life of Beethoven (Musical Lives)

This is actually the "textbook" for my music analysis class, the topic of which this semester is Beethoven's string quartets.  (What an awkward sentence that was...)  The interesting (or uninteresting, depending on your point of view I suppose) thing about this biography is that it's not your typical story-like, anecdotal biography.  Instead, it relies on primary sources and contemporary information to present the composer for what he was:  a working musician.  Although it doesn't argue his genius, there's a lot less hero-worship and a lot more explanation of some of the less favorable aspects of Beethoven's character (including his brilliant but no-so-honorable dealings with publishers).  A very interesting read for the musical übernerd such as myself, but not a biography I'd suggest for a first Beethoven biography.

Bambi: A Life in the Woods

Am I a huge nerd?  Yes, obviously.  I have a strange love for children's literature, and when I'm in the young people's section at our library I usually can't help but flip through one or two.  Often it's something short, intended for young children, and full of pictures that secretly make me giddy, like Hondo and Fabian or Marshmallow (I heart charcoal, btw).  Today I noticed the original Bambi, however, and took an interest.  Why not read the book that inspired both my mother's name and a beautiful Disney film, I thought?  And so this is what I'm currently diving into.

And just to take my nerddom to the top, here's the chapter I just read, which I found interesting and touching (geez, people, don't let me read children's literature when I'm tired and emotional).  Pardon the lengthiness, but Vox has yet to come up with it's equivalent of the LJ-cut, as far as I know.  From Bambi, by Felix Salten, Chapter VIII:

The leaves were falling from the great oak at the meadow's edge.  They were falling from all the trees.
One branch of the oak reached high above the others and stretched far out over the meadow.  Two leaves clung to its very tip.
"It isn't the way it used to be," said one leaf to the other.
"No," the other leaf answered.  "So many of us have fallen off to-night we're almost the only ones left on our branch."
"You never know who's going to go next," said the first leaf.  "Even when it was warm and the sun shone, a storm or a cloudburst would come sometimes, and many leaves were torn off, though they were still young.  You never know who's going to go next."
"The sun seldom shines now," sighed the second leaf, "and when it does it gives no warmth.  We must have warmth again."
"Can it be true," said the first leaf, "can it really be true, that others come to take our places when we're gone and after them still others, and more and more?"
"It is really true," whispered the second leaf.  "We can't even begin to imagine it, it's beyond our powers."
"It makes me very sad," added the first leaf.
They were silent a while.  Then the first leaf said quietly to herself, "Why must we fall?..."
The second leaf asked, "What happens to us when we have fallen?"
"We sink down..."
"What is under us?"
The first leaf answered, "I don't know, some say one thing, some another, but nobody knows."
The second leaf asked, "Do we feel anything, do we know anything about ourselves when we're down there?"
The first leaf answered, "Who knows?  Not one of all those down there has ever come back to tell us about it."
They were silent again.  Then the first leaf said tenderly to the other, "Don't worry so much about it, you're trembling."
"That's nothing," the second leaf answered, "I tremble at the least thing now.  I don't feel so sure of my hold as I used to."
"Let's not talk any more about such things," said the first leaf.
The other replied, "No, we'll let be.  But--what else shall we talk about?"  She was silent, but went on after a little while, "Which of us will go first?"
"There's still plenty of time to worry about that," the other leaf assured her.  "Let's remember how beautiful it was, how wonderful, when the sun came out and shone so warmly that we thought we'd burst with life.  Do you remember?  And the morning dew, and the mild and splendid nights..."
"Now the nights are dreadful," the second leaf complained, "and there is no end to them."
"We shouldn't complain," said the first leaf gently.  "We've outlived many, many others."
"Have I changed much?" asked the second leaf shyly but determinedly.
"Not in the least," the first leaf assured her.  "You only think so because I've got to be so yellow and ugly.  But it's different in your case."
"You're fooling me," the second leaf said.
"No, really," the first leaf exclaimed eagerly, "believe me, you're as lovely as the day you were born.  Here and there may be a little yellow spot but it's hardly noticeable and only makes you handsomer, believe me."
"Thanks," whispered the second leaf, quite touched.  "I don't believe you, not altogether, but I thank you because you're so kind, you've always been so kind to me.  I'm just beginning to understand how kind you are."
"Hush," said the other leaf, and kept silent herself for she was too troubled to talk any more.
Then they were both silent.  Hours passed.
A moist wind blew, cold and hostile, through the tree-tops.
"Ah, now," said the second leaf, "I..."  Then her voice broke off.  She was torn from her place and spun down.
Winter had come.

Between Bambi and Toy Story, people sure are finding ways to make me children feel great pity for things that lack consciousnesses.

Just finished Season 3 of The Office.

F.  T.  W.

(And yes, it is, in fact, 7:30 in the morning.  I napped from 8pm to 11pm... and then pretty much watched the entire second half of the third season.  TV shows on DVD are about the best thing ever.)

I'm so excited for Thursday.

...or do other people under the age of 80 also enjoy this show?

I've discovered that I have a ridiculous love of the show Antiques Roadshow.  I should state that I'm not really an antique person.  I don't actively seek this show out.  But if I turn the TV on, and PBS is Antiques Roadshowin' it up, I CANNOT RESIST.  I must watch, and squee at the things that turn out to be worth huge sums of money.  And then!  The people are so happy!  And it makes me happy to see that.  A lady just brought in a painting she'd bought for $400 and had restored for $600-900.  AND IT TURNED OUT TO BE BY ONE OF THE FIRST HAWAIIAN ARTISTS TO PAINT IN A WESTERN STYLE, AND HE ONLY DID LIKE 5 OR 6 PAINTINGS.  AND THEN IT WAS WORTH $100,000-$150,000!

And it made me happy, and she cried, and I cried on the inside out of happiness for her.

I'M WEIRD.

(Can you tell Brian's at work and I'm occupying myself with Internet?)

Since I was supposed to be doing work for my composition lessons all summer, I decided that with a few weeks left until class starts, I should probably y'know... start that.  I've been--for lack of a better word--cautiously working on a piece for French horn and piano.  I say "cautiously" because I have a bad habit of coming up with a few measures of crap that I like way too much, then obsessing over it so much that nothing else gets done.  While I have been obsessing as per usual, I've also forced myself to try and focus just as much on what's going to come next (as well as what's going to come before... I think I starting writing in the middle of whatever this will end up being).  Now that it's really starting to take shape and go places, this is getting even more difficult.  I know it sounds egotistical or something, but I get so proud of myself for actually doing something that I just want to sit and play what I have over and over, too scared to move on lest I ruin it.

Anyway.  "I'm having fun composing and difficulty staying focused."  Read that and save yourself a paragraph you already read.

The whole process makes me wish I had the equipment/software/knowledge to record and quickly notate my work.  I'm so slow with notation that I pretty much just memorize everything I do, which aside from also being time-consuming is risky if I back off of a project for a few weeks.  Plus, I feel like if I could just record some things and listen to them (without concentrating so much on playing them), I could tweak and edit much more efficiently and just generally write better stuff.

I also feel I could write better stuff if I had the amazing keyboard Brian recently acquired.  (So much jealousy.)  It's pretty much the sexiest thing ever, even if I've no clue how to use 99% of its features.  I keep repeating to myself:  I do not need fancypants gadgetry to make myself a better composer.  I am a worthwhile human being without neat-o keyboard with samples of 50 trillion different samples.  I can write music.  Sort of.

(Brian has such a nifty device because he's all about you know.  Computer-related recording things that I don't understand but that require such amazing pieces of technology.  And because he rocks hard at piano.)

Anyway.  I write all this to take a break from the Keyboard of Awesomeness, where I was getting entirely too excited about modulating back to C-sharp major.  I mean, really.  It shouldn't be such a big deal.  I shall shower because I'm gross and still clad in PJs, then return to the drawing--er, keyboard.

As I've noted, I have a stupid sense of humor.  I mean, I appreciate the occasional intellectual joke (if I get it, which is usually more a cause for celebration than for laughter).  But typically, I find nothing funnier than ...really stupid crap.  So when someone on YouTube combines two of my favorite dumb/hilarious videos, I pretty much want to marry him/her.

The first video I just posted recently:

Dear Sister OC Spoof

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Completely Uncalled For

I've never watched the OC, but apparently the SNL Digital Short is mocking it.  In spite of not knowing exactly what it's mocking--I pretty much couldn't stop laughing.

Dear Sister OC Spoof

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Okay, after a little YouTube detective work I managed to find the scene this was mocking.  Of course, it is probably a really dramatic, heart-wrenching moment in the show.  ...But after watching the spoof, I couldn't stop laughing.

I'm evil.

And then a little more YouTube browsing led to this, a spoof of the spoof based on 300:

Dear Persian (SNL Digital Short Spoof)

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And then Brian found this, which made me laugh even harder than the original (if possible), thus proving I have the sense of humor of a 10-year-old boy:

Dear Sister Spoof

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...It's just not getting old.  And I'm fairly certain that if I ever hear the song "Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap in real life somewhere, I'm going to burst out laughing and not be able to stop.