Minimalism

Yesterday in my Music History 3 class, we discussed minimalism.

Which reminds me of this t-shirt.

But anyway.

We listened to a lot of Steve Reich's music. "It's Gonna Rain", "Clapping Music", "New York Counterpoint: I. Fast", and "Violin Phase". Let's just say it's not my favorite stuff. It's incredibly repetitive and it makes me want to sleep.

In fact, "Violin Phase" is 15 minutes and 19 seconds long. And I did sleep. I fell asleep, in fact, on my keyboard.

My notes went like this:

• Violin Phase - Steve Reich
• 15 minutes long
• 2 violins - one plays the same thing the whole time (steady), the other shiftsmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
  mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
  mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
  mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
  mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
  mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
  mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Classic.

Sara Groves

This song is so beautiful and so convicting.

Thesis: To Be A Princess, You Must Have Absent-Minded (or entirely absent) Parents.

Did anyone ever notice this? Let's look at the six main princesses: Cinderella, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Ariel, Jasmine, and Belle.

Cinderella
Where are her parents? She had a father, but he, for some reason, married an evil woman and then died. She lives with her step-mother, then meets a prince and they get hitched. She's a princess.

Snow White
Same story as Cinderella. Her father, apparently a lonely idiot, marries a witch and then he dies (more likely is murdered). She lives (somehow) with her stepmother, meets a prince and they get hitched (after some in-between time troubles like death). Voila! She's a princess.

Sleeping Beauty
Where are her parents? Well, she at least has both of them alive, but they haven't had any contact since, oh about BIRTH. She's been raised in the middle of the woods by 3 absent-minded fairies. She was already a princess, but she meets a prince anyway, they get hitched, and she's a married princess.

Ariel

Where is this girl's mother? I know there had to be one at some point; she has like, 80 sisters. With an absent-minded father like hers, this girl needs a mother to keep her in line. But nope. No mother in this girl's life. So she goes gallivanting off into all kinds of trouble, meets a prince, (through a long ordeal somehow becomes human), and voila! She's a princess.

JasmineAgain, where is her mother? Nowhere to be found. She just has her very stupid father, and a tiger. Not much help. Of course, she's already a princess, but she still meets a prince (or rather, a "street rat" with a genie) and they get married.

BelleAgain, stupid father, no mother. She meets a prince (in disguise/enchantment as a ... beast) and they get married.

What is with this? Apparently, if I have no parents, or only stupid ones, I can be a princess.

You know what? I'll keep my life, thanks. I like my parents, brains and all.

And Then There Were Two: On Bathroom Talk

I haven't posted in a while, and then I do twice in one day? What the deal is, yo. (Yeah, I can't diagram that sentence either.)

Today, I was in the bathroom at school (yes, there is only one bathroom in all of campus... oh sarcasm) and thinking about bathroom talkers. I am one of these semi-annoying (mostly-endearing?) people. I talk to my friends while we're on the toilet. If no one else is in there, or if I'm in the bathroom at home, I sing or hum or whistle or something. (Don't ask for clarification of "something".) It seems that most of my friends are okay with that, and we often have interesting conversations. Or just normal conversations turned interesting because we're both peeing.

Anyway.

Some people are NOT bathroom talkers. They'd rather be quiet and take care of their business and go. (Haha... go.) And the thing is, you can't tell by looking at someone whether or not they're a bathroom talker. Sometimes, even if you know a person you can't tell.

Today, when I walked into the bathroom, one of my professors was in there, washing her hands. We said, "Hey," but conversation stopped at that, because I entered the stall. I didn't want to strike up a conversation because I wasn't sure if she's a bathroom talker. Did she not strike up a conversation because she's not a bathroom talker, or because she didn't know if I was one or not? (She usually does strike up a conversation with me.)

So, this left me in a ponderous mood. And I thought, "What a great blog: The Philosophies of Bathroom Talking."

How do we really know if people are cool with it? When I go into the bathroom and talk to a friend, how did that conversation begin? How did we both know that we were okay with bathroom talking? (Oh oh oh it's magic... you know you know you know...) (Yeah, I went there.)

Do guys talk in the bathroom?

Questions, questions, questions.

(That's all philosophy is, really.)

Everybody's Doing It

Everyone else was updating, and I realized it been a while. So here I am.

In the music building.
Listening to the most obnoxious voice lesson EVER.
Seriously.
The teacher is the loudest soprano you'll ever meet, and doesn't have my favorite tone.
Same with the student, who is also nasally, has a weird lisp-of-sorts, and slightly off-key.
They are both really loud.
I am at the other end of the hall.
And I wish I had my headphones in.

I spent all my free time in the last 4 days watching the first season of Chuck. I had it out of the library for one week. I got a lot of knitting done, though.

Thankfully, I haven't had very much homework this week.

I gave a speech in ... Speech class.... On Larry Norman's life. If you don't know who he is, look him up. You'll thank me later. Maybe.

And that's about it.

In Which Leah Discusses Encouraging (And Discouraging) Things of Late

Words really affect me. "Words of Affirmation" is one of my top love languages - right up there with Physical Touch - so you can imagine how much discouraging words cut me.

I've had a lot of both today. Or maybe I was just extra sensitive.

In Speech class, I got my outline back. My outline on which I spent SEVEN hours in the library. My prof gave me 100% and wrote "Great Job!" on it. Plus, when she handed it back to me, she said, "That's a really really good outline." It may sound silly, but that meant so much to me. I was practically glowing. (I know.)

Then I had another class, which shall remain unnamed. I really like the prof usually, but today I said something silly and pointless (like I never do... right? haha) and the prof just said, "Well, thank you for sharing that," got a funny look on his face, and went back to class. It hurt. I honestly felt like crying. I know I'm more sensitive this week than I usually am (we've already been over that one) but it did hurt. (And I had just eaten lunch, so I wasn't really tired.)

But then I had a voice lesson. We didn't do any singing, since I just had my recital, but we talked about how the recital went and what we're going to do the rest of the semester (since I don't have to do a jury - huzzah!). It was really really good to hear what my voice teacher had to say. She had mostly positive comments, and what corrections she had to make, she did in a kind way.

Later, I was at work in a classroom building. I was singing while wiping off tables and a friend walked by (he was rehearsing down the hall) and said, mostly jokingly, "Your singing is too loud." I joked back, "Oh, shut up." And then later he said he was joking. But it kinda hurt. And it reminded me of how my brother used to tell me I couldn't sing well. And all the things my father said to hurt me. And I felt like crying again.

It's not that people can never criticize me. It's good for me. It's not that people can only say nice things to me. I'd have a big head if that were the case. But I wish people would see that I'm a sensitive person.

Or maybe I just need to stop acting tough. Do I? Do I act tough? 'Cause I'm not emotionally tough. Words cut me like butter (and not refrigerated butter).

I don't like butter.

Today I ate four cookies just before choir.
They all hit my blood stream about 5:10.
Wheeeeeeee.

We got out of work a half hour early tonight (so we could attend some school spirit event - hahahahahaha... I came home instead.) so that was nice.

I got to climb inside the Paper Gator bin at school.
That was spectacular.

Love and bloody thumbs (a result of said Paper-Gator-diving),
LeahJoy

On PMS, Blood Donating, and Insensitive Conductors

So, I donated a pint of blood today.

If I could think of one thing that would make me stranger than having just given a pint of my lifeblood away AND being in the midst of PMS-week - well... I wouldn't be here right now. Because honestly. I am so weird today.

First of all, donating blood really... eh, drains me. (Note to all readers: There is no such thing as an unintended pun.) So I'm super tired.

When I'm super tired, I want to cry.

Secondly, PMSing makes me want to cry.

So I just want to cry all the time, right?

Yeah.

Today in band, we had a guest conductor. Our regular director said, "I had him for clarinet lessons. He made me cry like every week." Yeah. I definitely cried in band today. Not overtly, because I'm tough like that, but there were tears streaming onto my reed, that's for sure.

(Side note to April: I definitely just typed "that's for you".)

You know why I cried?

Not 'cause he said anything mean or uncalled for. Not that I didn't play my part perfectly and I was upset. No. I was sitting cross-legged, and he asked me to put both feet on the floor.

So I cried?

Yeah.

I'm tired.

And then I was really hungry, and being PMSing and having just donated blood, I was craving Arby's like a pregnant woman.

So I just drove to Arby's and got a large curly fries and a 6-piece mozzarella sticks. Yes, I did. And I ate it all by myself.

In a back hallway practice room, actually.

I feel kinda guilty for eating in a practice room, but I made sure to get one with no carpet and no piano, so I wouldn't be making a big mess on something hard to clean.

And I'm kind of avoiding the other people in the music building right now, because that's another symptom of being tired and PMSing: I like to be alone.

Also, I have bad breath. Curly fries and mozzarella sticks will do that to you.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love mozzarella sticks? 'Cause I really do.

I guess that's enough randomosity for now.

Love and a pint o' blood,
Leah