All right, I'm roasting a duck. Finally. Or rather, attempting to roast a duck, a la Barbara Kafka.
I have never roasted anything, before. I have baked things, and I did braise a brisket in the oven, once. But that's it. That's the extent. I have today performed feats of Preparation I never dreamt I'd manage.
Let's just see if I managed it, oh, say, well. It was an Experience, to say the list.
But but but: this method is magic. It's two-fold, to deal with the Heaping Helpings of Fat, so it involves a poaching with all the sundry extras before the high-heat roasting.
Which means: free duck stock. Before even roasting the duck. I can add back the carcass etc. and double-stock it. (I cannot waste anything, so this is one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard. I wish I knew what to do with rendered duck fat, then I wouldn't even have to chuck *that.*)
It smells really good, poaching away. Really ducky, but really good. I am very much looking forward to the roasting part!
Various other life tidbits:
Show is delightful and I love it. Chris is coming Saturday, and Sunday's the last performance ( :(! ). It turns out our two main leads, Bobby and Polly, are pro's, Bobby (Jody Madaras) having done the role some 200+ times, including Euro tours and a lot of choreography. Polly (Natalie Wisdom) is fantastic, too, gorgeous voice and fabulous dancer. I'm really impressed with them both, and with everyone local in our cast.
I've even broken through my formerly often crippling shyness and anxiety and gone to a couple of cast things, formal and informal. This is good for me. It's really strange, too - seeing a little bit of the underbelly of the thing, interpersonal strife. But, I haven't seen any real viciousness, which is comforting. And anyway, I love it; so long as I don't get too wrapped up, it's fascinating. I love people.
More seriously: I am not in the parts of CA that are currently burning. I am well. I *think* my relatives who are in those parts are okay, and so far the friends I have who are in the very thick of it are still in voluntary evac instead of mandatory, and are doing okay. If you are in one of those areas, PLEASE be safe, and I'm thinking of you.
I'm gonna' go back to checking on my duck, and maybe see if my mom's heard anything about my people in Pasadena. LOVE.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Emotional coaster a bit.
Loved Julie&Julia. Apart from the frustrations that come from true stories (when people sometimes don't behave quite how you want them to), it was delightful. I love the idea. The food was gorgeous. Meryl Streep was unsurprisingly brilliant. It makes me want to cook--it's making me want to have a project. And I want the roast duck recipe. (Though I may actually take Barbara Kafka, queen of roasting all things, over Julia in this matter, if we've got hers. If you ever want to know how to roast anything, and have it come out better than anyone's you've ever had? Go to Kafka.)
I spent the movie in and out of tears, basically unrelatedly. I started crying on the way out of the get-together this morning (had to beat a hasty retreat), and just... it's been drop of a hat, since then. I'd guess at least a dozen times, during the flick? And mostly inappropriately. However, I definitely needed the joy and delight and giggling, and I got a lot of that, too, so that's good.
Now we're listening to some Maurice Chevalier (spent some time with Charles Trenet, earlier), and the utter sweetness promises to help. So does Chris's cooking (if you aren't well aware of this by now, Chris is the Philosopher Chef, Saucier Than Thou - a whiz at French cooking - all cooking, reared on Julia Child's show as a kid, and born on her birthday). I've successfully campaigned for some Pommes de Terre à la Maitre'd'hotel to go along with the lamp loin chops sautéed in butter and dressed in pan sauce, and a Child recipe for green beans. Cap it off with a little cognitive dissonance in the form of a Chilean Cabernet, and I think we'll be able to stave off the demons a little longer.
I spent the movie in and out of tears, basically unrelatedly. I started crying on the way out of the get-together this morning (had to beat a hasty retreat), and just... it's been drop of a hat, since then. I'd guess at least a dozen times, during the flick? And mostly inappropriately. However, I definitely needed the joy and delight and giggling, and I got a lot of that, too, so that's good.
Now we're listening to some Maurice Chevalier (spent some time with Charles Trenet, earlier), and the utter sweetness promises to help. So does Chris's cooking (if you aren't well aware of this by now, Chris is the Philosopher Chef, Saucier Than Thou - a whiz at French cooking - all cooking, reared on Julia Child's show as a kid, and born on her birthday). I've successfully campaigned for some Pommes de Terre à la Maitre'd'hotel to go along with the lamp loin chops sautéed in butter and dressed in pan sauce, and a Child recipe for green beans. Cap it off with a little cognitive dissonance in the form of a Chilean Cabernet, and I think we'll be able to stave off the demons a little longer.
Show; campus
It's weird to think of it this way, but I was having a similar reaction to opening night of Crazy For You to the one I had at the end of doing Beethoven's 9th Symphony. Giddy tears and trembling excitement, and a whole lot of greedy, basking love for the audience and its standing ovation. Even if I was down in the pit. I could still crane 'round and see them.
(Btw, they moved us from backstage to down in the pit with the orchestra, mic'd. Which is a great thing. Besides, I like calling myself a "pit singer" more than a "backstage singer." I'm also defaulting to Backup Girl.)
The show was fantastic. It was a blast. A whirling, frantic putting-together, and a beautiful opening night. The theater has more than its fair share of technical difficulties, and some things blew up at the last minute--missing actors, breaking props--but they still got it off in great order. Everybody stepped up and were brilliant. I've said this before, but I've never really been much for dance shows (I can take a lot of Fosse, but chorus lines and follies have never thrilled), but I sat in awe of this group. These girls are professional quality dancers (there's a 15 y.o. teaching dance classes already, and a girl who just got accepted into the Rockettes, for instance), and they're stunning. The choreography and acrobatics were gorgeous, huge, clever, funny, delightful. There's a bit where the girls are bells, if that makes any sense, and a pinwheel, and and and...
I love it. I'm in love. I'm giddy. I even got over enough of my crisis-level shyness to go with my carpool mates to the cast party, and chat and be silly and play games in the pool. The acting was great, the comedy was spot on (even the cheesy parts - and the physical comedy was PERFECT), the music was grand, and, if I do say so myself, the singing went well. Giddy giddy giddy!
...
Well, be fair; I was giddy. The budget crisis has taken its toll. Chris is a union rep for our campus, for contingent lecturers (think: the college faculty equivalent of highly vulnerable wage slaves, with next to no protections, who make up the majority and do most of the work; the adage is that every lecturer is fifteen seconds from utter humiliation). There's been a slash-and-burn going on, and a lot of people are up in the air, and we spent the morning with a handful of lecturers who've been on tenterhooks and probably let go from the university-but-not-necessarily-completely, trying to hash out their rights and contracts and potential outcomes--the culmination of which was a last minute email (received by one of them by iPhone) with the nail in the coffin for all of them. Their small hope was a false one; they have no work, and no rehiring rights, and no continued affiliation with the university or the committees they man, this Fall. Which is to say, in a week and a half. They have no health insurance, they will not be getting a check this month. They're not even at the top of the rehire-if-we-get-some-money list. They have to give back their keys, and clear out their offices. This week.
These are people we know. Our campus, with its 400 faculty, has lost 187--no, wait.. now it's 192, after this morning, isn't it?--of its faculty. Cut in half. Everyone the university could cut without declaring an official layoff, they cut. Fellow lecturer reps from other campuses are working with the union through the summer, even though their teaching jobs are no longer waiting for them in Fall. These are dedicated, passionate teachers, and most of the people we were with today graduated from this campus, went through the very programs they're teaching in, worked most intensively with the most vulnerable students, in the most fundamental classes.
And they're just... gone, now.
(This doesn't even get into the issue of the hundreds of classes cut on our campus alone--classes that were full, and whose students have not even been informed of the cuts and schedule changes and who will most likely get to campus on day one with no idea their classes and teachers are gone and that several of their class days will be furloughed &c, but who have been pulled for an extra $500 for this semester, or $1000 for the year, already. Or all the students who just aren't going to be accepted at all, come Spring and next year, despite state law dictating that this system accept all eligible students. And all the basic remedial classes the bulk of new students will need to complete in their first year to be kept on at the university, but which will be unavailable to them, since they've been cut. And--)
...Sorry for the whiplash. That kinda' where we're at, right now.
I think we're going to spend some of my blood on Julie&Julia (...I can get comp movie tickets, with all the blood donations I've racked up), try to get something a little joyful going.
Love, all.
(Btw, they moved us from backstage to down in the pit with the orchestra, mic'd. Which is a great thing. Besides, I like calling myself a "pit singer" more than a "backstage singer." I'm also defaulting to Backup Girl.)
The show was fantastic. It was a blast. A whirling, frantic putting-together, and a beautiful opening night. The theater has more than its fair share of technical difficulties, and some things blew up at the last minute--missing actors, breaking props--but they still got it off in great order. Everybody stepped up and were brilliant. I've said this before, but I've never really been much for dance shows (I can take a lot of Fosse, but chorus lines and follies have never thrilled), but I sat in awe of this group. These girls are professional quality dancers (there's a 15 y.o. teaching dance classes already, and a girl who just got accepted into the Rockettes, for instance), and they're stunning. The choreography and acrobatics were gorgeous, huge, clever, funny, delightful. There's a bit where the girls are bells, if that makes any sense, and a pinwheel, and and and...
I love it. I'm in love. I'm giddy. I even got over enough of my crisis-level shyness to go with my carpool mates to the cast party, and chat and be silly and play games in the pool. The acting was great, the comedy was spot on (even the cheesy parts - and the physical comedy was PERFECT), the music was grand, and, if I do say so myself, the singing went well. Giddy giddy giddy!
...
Well, be fair; I was giddy. The budget crisis has taken its toll. Chris is a union rep for our campus, for contingent lecturers (think: the college faculty equivalent of highly vulnerable wage slaves, with next to no protections, who make up the majority and do most of the work; the adage is that every lecturer is fifteen seconds from utter humiliation). There's been a slash-and-burn going on, and a lot of people are up in the air, and we spent the morning with a handful of lecturers who've been on tenterhooks and probably let go from the university-but-not-necessarily-completely, trying to hash out their rights and contracts and potential outcomes--the culmination of which was a last minute email (received by one of them by iPhone) with the nail in the coffin for all of them. Their small hope was a false one; they have no work, and no rehiring rights, and no continued affiliation with the university or the committees they man, this Fall. Which is to say, in a week and a half. They have no health insurance, they will not be getting a check this month. They're not even at the top of the rehire-if-we-get-some-money list. They have to give back their keys, and clear out their offices. This week.
These are people we know. Our campus, with its 400 faculty, has lost 187--no, wait.. now it's 192, after this morning, isn't it?--of its faculty. Cut in half. Everyone the university could cut without declaring an official layoff, they cut. Fellow lecturer reps from other campuses are working with the union through the summer, even though their teaching jobs are no longer waiting for them in Fall. These are dedicated, passionate teachers, and most of the people we were with today graduated from this campus, went through the very programs they're teaching in, worked most intensively with the most vulnerable students, in the most fundamental classes.
And they're just... gone, now.
(This doesn't even get into the issue of the hundreds of classes cut on our campus alone--classes that were full, and whose students have not even been informed of the cuts and schedule changes and who will most likely get to campus on day one with no idea their classes and teachers are gone and that several of their class days will be furloughed &c, but who have been pulled for an extra $500 for this semester, or $1000 for the year, already. Or all the students who just aren't going to be accepted at all, come Spring and next year, despite state law dictating that this system accept all eligible students. And all the basic remedial classes the bulk of new students will need to complete in their first year to be kept on at the university, but which will be unavailable to them, since they've been cut. And--)
...Sorry for the whiplash. That kinda' where we're at, right now.
I think we're going to spend some of my blood on Julie&Julia (...I can get comp movie tickets, with all the blood donations I've racked up), try to get something a little joyful going.
Love, all.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
...Okay, no, really.
We were just out in Modesto, and saw several posters printed out and stuck on trees, with President Obama's face on them done up to look like the Joker, and "Socialism" written under them.
I just... need to point something out, here.
Among developed nations, we have the highest or nearly highest infant mortality rates, death rates from preventable and treatable illness, and costs per capita to provide health care to our people.
Comparable nations with single-payer health care have much lower infant death rates than we do, far fewer deaths per capita from preventable and treatable illness, and longer life spans, and they spend a hell of a lot less per capita to do it.
This all seems very simple, to me.
The system we have now still covers people who aren't insured privately--but we do it by picking up the pieces when someone who couldn't afford to get preventative care or get a small problem like an infection or a minor wound or a bad flu looked at winds up on death's door (which is to say, in the ER) with a far more expensive problem. What could have cost a few dollars to treat or prevent costs thousands to the revered taxpayers. The prevalence of untreated disease means that it's a lot easier for diseases to spread like wildfire, too--so this isn't just the problem of the person who's sick. This is your problem, too. Yes, there are clinics, but they're overworked, understaffed, underfunded. Yes, there are some safety net programs in place, like Medicare and Medicaid and Medical, but they're increasingly underfunded, and are sloughing otherwise eligible people off of their rolls, ever day. And the ERs and Medicare and clinics are all a lot more expensive per capita to run than a central program with a strong emphasis on prevention would be.
The public option doesn't eliminate private health care, if you've got it and you like it. HMOs and the like already limit your choice of doctors and services, and while they don't run your requested services past a bureaucrat (who incidentally has no profit motive), they DO run your requested services past a mid-level businessman who wants to (1) make the largest profit possible from serving you, and (2) spend the least amount possible on you to do it. This is the nature of having shareholders; their job is not to keep you healthy or happy, their job is to produce profit. Any service they can avoid giving you, they will. The more they can charge to give you the services they do, the better. And the fewest at risk (read: in need) people they can insure...
This is really not limiting our options. It just means that people with nothing but desperation can be healthier, and fewer people die for no reason. Some people running private health care companies may lose a little off of their multi-billion-dollar profit margins. I can live with that.
I just... need to point something out, here.
Among developed nations, we have the highest or nearly highest infant mortality rates, death rates from preventable and treatable illness, and costs per capita to provide health care to our people.
Comparable nations with single-payer health care have much lower infant death rates than we do, far fewer deaths per capita from preventable and treatable illness, and longer life spans, and they spend a hell of a lot less per capita to do it.
This all seems very simple, to me.
The system we have now still covers people who aren't insured privately--but we do it by picking up the pieces when someone who couldn't afford to get preventative care or get a small problem like an infection or a minor wound or a bad flu looked at winds up on death's door (which is to say, in the ER) with a far more expensive problem. What could have cost a few dollars to treat or prevent costs thousands to the revered taxpayers. The prevalence of untreated disease means that it's a lot easier for diseases to spread like wildfire, too--so this isn't just the problem of the person who's sick. This is your problem, too. Yes, there are clinics, but they're overworked, understaffed, underfunded. Yes, there are some safety net programs in place, like Medicare and Medicaid and Medical, but they're increasingly underfunded, and are sloughing otherwise eligible people off of their rolls, ever day. And the ERs and Medicare and clinics are all a lot more expensive per capita to run than a central program with a strong emphasis on prevention would be.
The public option doesn't eliminate private health care, if you've got it and you like it. HMOs and the like already limit your choice of doctors and services, and while they don't run your requested services past a bureaucrat (who incidentally has no profit motive), they DO run your requested services past a mid-level businessman who wants to (1) make the largest profit possible from serving you, and (2) spend the least amount possible on you to do it. This is the nature of having shareholders; their job is not to keep you healthy or happy, their job is to produce profit. Any service they can avoid giving you, they will. The more they can charge to give you the services they do, the better. And the fewest at risk (read: in need) people they can insure...
This is really not limiting our options. It just means that people with nothing but desperation can be healthier, and fewer people die for no reason. Some people running private health care companies may lose a little off of their multi-billion-dollar profit margins. I can live with that.
Friday, August 7, 2009
OH NO OH NO OH YES YES YES YES!!!!
Story of my life:
I am too afraid to try to do something. Usually something involving an interview, an audition, or otherwise throwing myself out bodily in front of uninterested parties.
Said thing throws itself at me, and allows me (just that once) to bypass some portion of the terror--the decision to consider or try at all, of course, and maybe part of an audition, or an application, or whatever it is, too. Volunteer work, the choir, a gig, the knitting group, an open mic night, my job. Anything I want to do and am afraid to go ask to be a part of.
Well, as of tonight, I'm in a musical. That opens in two weeks.
A friend from the choir emailed about a dozen of us to see if she could snag some backstage singers to fill out the sound of the chorus and dance line, and I appear to be one of three (there are eight Girls/Chorus/Follies we'll be behind - I am not insignificant, here). I'm (most likely) singing the high soprano part. I may be the only person singing the high Bflats in large groups, when the girls who have to actually dance and act and be out on stage are too SRSLYBUSY to knock out those notes, or I'll be one of two. (Or I may not get to do all of them--sadness!--but that's okay, too. But Bflats are yummy.)
I'm kinda' in shock. Went to part of a rehearsal, tonight, going to most of one tomorrow. It rehearses 6 days a week, 6-11pm, though I'm missing a lot of next week. The week after that is dress/tech week. And then there are shows.
OH HOLY SHIT WHAT AM I DOING?!
...There really isn't too much material to learn. I get to keep the score onhand (because who'll care, when I'm backstage?), and it's not too tough. It's a Gershwin thing I've never actually seen or heard of, called Crazy for You, and it seems to be a redux of other stuff of theirs, with a new plot combining them. But it's got a lot of their songs that I do know (which is not many). But I'm not singing in most of those ("Someone to Watch Over Me," "They Can't Take That Away From Me," etc, don't have chorus). But I am singing in "I Got Rhythm." And I think also "Nice Work If You Can Get It." And a handful of things I hadn't heard before today, but that I'm picking up quickly. Hopefully quickly enough.
OH CHRIST OH FUCK OH FUCK WISH ME LUCK. I know you're not supposed to, but I think I don't mind. This is SO COOL.
I am too afraid to try to do something. Usually something involving an interview, an audition, or otherwise throwing myself out bodily in front of uninterested parties.
Said thing throws itself at me, and allows me (just that once) to bypass some portion of the terror--the decision to consider or try at all, of course, and maybe part of an audition, or an application, or whatever it is, too. Volunteer work, the choir, a gig, the knitting group, an open mic night, my job. Anything I want to do and am afraid to go ask to be a part of.
Well, as of tonight, I'm in a musical. That opens in two weeks.
A friend from the choir emailed about a dozen of us to see if she could snag some backstage singers to fill out the sound of the chorus and dance line, and I appear to be one of three (there are eight Girls/Chorus/Follies we'll be behind - I am not insignificant, here). I'm (most likely) singing the high soprano part. I may be the only person singing the high Bflats in large groups, when the girls who have to actually dance and act and be out on stage are too SRSLYBUSY to knock out those notes, or I'll be one of two. (Or I may not get to do all of them--sadness!--but that's okay, too. But Bflats are yummy.)
I'm kinda' in shock. Went to part of a rehearsal, tonight, going to most of one tomorrow. It rehearses 6 days a week, 6-11pm, though I'm missing a lot of next week. The week after that is dress/tech week. And then there are shows.
OH HOLY SHIT WHAT AM I DOING?!
...There really isn't too much material to learn. I get to keep the score onhand (because who'll care, when I'm backstage?), and it's not too tough. It's a Gershwin thing I've never actually seen or heard of, called Crazy for You, and it seems to be a redux of other stuff of theirs, with a new plot combining them. But it's got a lot of their songs that I do know (which is not many). But I'm not singing in most of those ("Someone to Watch Over Me," "They Can't Take That Away From Me," etc, don't have chorus). But I am singing in "I Got Rhythm." And I think also "Nice Work If You Can Get It." And a handful of things I hadn't heard before today, but that I'm picking up quickly. Hopefully quickly enough.
OH CHRIST OH FUCK OH FUCK WISH ME LUCK. I know you're not supposed to, but I think I don't mind. This is SO COOL.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
County fair! County fair!
Briefy update: went to the county fair, didn't ride any rides or play any games (v. v. expensive!), but pet copious animals, listened to much music. More on the last two:
I have, before, pet the noses of police horses and must have once a goat (because I remember him trying to eat my clothes). There are probably petting zoo memories of my early youth I've just lost, by now. But in my memory, this is the first time I've ever touched a cow. I pet a cow, tonight, and I pet so many wonderful young goats and sheep (and was nibbled on to my heart's content by both), and even a llama and an emu and a piglet.
Still on the lookout for chicken-, goose-, and duck-handling opportunities (we didn't find the petting zoo until it was about to close, and they were all already in bed).
....I haven't had much farm-type experience.
Mind you, I have held/pet cockatoos, cockatiels, conures, macaws, green parrots, African Grays, sparrows, a crow, boas, pythons, corn snakes, bearded dragons, alligator lizards, iguanas, salamanders, toads, frogs, wild field rats, pet rats, mice, hamsters of all descriptions, guinea pigs, chinchillas, rabbits, turtles, tortoises, all kinds of spiders and insects and crawlies generally, butterflies and giant moths and iridescent beetles, sea slugs, skates and rays, muscles, abalone, fish and bottom dwellers, cats, dogs, wolf mutts and half-coyotes. So I'm really not low on animal interactions, just... particularly domestic ones. I have stroked more sea slugs than I can count, but never a chick or a duckling. Maybe we'll have to go back, break down and pay for some rides and pet as many birds as will sit still. <3
Areas with titles like "Meat Goats! No petting" were comparatively quite, quite depressing. The Petting Zoo was a seriously healing experience after that. We couldn't find it until so so late!!
Music: one of Chris's students was playing as part of a band there, One-oh-One Percent, and they were fantastic. Great listening to them, very talented, great and varied repertoire. V. impressed.
Rick Springfield blew my socks off (or would have, if I had been wearing any). For one thing, ain't no way he's 60 on the 23rd, even if he is. He stripped down shirtless, and it was a lovely thing. He was a lovely thing. He played for an hour and a half, and never stopped moving, barely stopped singing, one song right into the next. EVERYTHING was a prop. He flung guitars wildly--literally flinging them in arcs through the air, across the stage--switching out almost every song, for a while. He played "What's Victoria's Secret?" and a lot of things that were familiar to me, but that I didn't really know, or didn't know were his, and he covered Paul McCartney and Wing's "Jet," from Band on the Run. During "Don't Talk to Strangers," he caused many people to talk to strangers, and appealed to anyone he landed on to sing along (micing them embarrassingly, but only teasing them moderately). Was teasing and jovial generally. Fixed on "lady in the pink shirt" early on in the show ("do you even know who the hell I am?"), and returned to tease her frequently (hugged her, cheered her, had her sing, and sang "Marylou" to her, that being her name). Chatted with little kids and got them on stage to dance and sing along ("Don't Talk to Strangers" lasted about 20 minutes, what with falderal). During "Human Touch" he waded probably 30 rows into the audience, and shook every hand and touched and was touched by everyone available. Went from blazing energy of that right into "Jessie's Girl," and was fabulous. After that, introducing the band, they were playing the Beatles' "She's so Heavy," from Abbey Road, and I was highly, highly impressed.
Voice got a little weak in the low, quieter register (he never stopped leaping around; I am 34 years younger and half his activity would have winded me immediately), but he wailed on everything else. Amazing music + voice. It was loud; my ears hurt, and the bass beat very literally felt like a heart beat--I kept getting a reflexive panic that I was getting seriously arrhythmic--but that's all I could say against it. We had a great time.
I want more of all of this music. And I want more critter cuddling, have I mentioned that?
Can I have a pygmy goat, please? Or a sheep? I promise I will pretend I have an agricultural excuse, I will.. Iunno, I'll make yarn, it'll be great. Please? And two chickens?
I have, before, pet the noses of police horses and must have once a goat (because I remember him trying to eat my clothes). There are probably petting zoo memories of my early youth I've just lost, by now. But in my memory, this is the first time I've ever touched a cow. I pet a cow, tonight, and I pet so many wonderful young goats and sheep (and was nibbled on to my heart's content by both), and even a llama and an emu and a piglet.
Still on the lookout for chicken-, goose-, and duck-handling opportunities (we didn't find the petting zoo until it was about to close, and they were all already in bed).
....I haven't had much farm-type experience.
Mind you, I have held/pet cockatoos, cockatiels, conures, macaws, green parrots, African Grays, sparrows, a crow, boas, pythons, corn snakes, bearded dragons, alligator lizards, iguanas, salamanders, toads, frogs, wild field rats, pet rats, mice, hamsters of all descriptions, guinea pigs, chinchillas, rabbits, turtles, tortoises, all kinds of spiders and insects and crawlies generally, butterflies and giant moths and iridescent beetles, sea slugs, skates and rays, muscles, abalone, fish and bottom dwellers, cats, dogs, wolf mutts and half-coyotes. So I'm really not low on animal interactions, just... particularly domestic ones. I have stroked more sea slugs than I can count, but never a chick or a duckling. Maybe we'll have to go back, break down and pay for some rides and pet as many birds as will sit still. <3
Areas with titles like "Meat Goats! No petting" were comparatively quite, quite depressing. The Petting Zoo was a seriously healing experience after that. We couldn't find it until so so late!!
Music: one of Chris's students was playing as part of a band there, One-oh-One Percent, and they were fantastic. Great listening to them, very talented, great and varied repertoire. V. impressed.
Rick Springfield blew my socks off (or would have, if I had been wearing any). For one thing, ain't no way he's 60 on the 23rd, even if he is. He stripped down shirtless, and it was a lovely thing. He was a lovely thing. He played for an hour and a half, and never stopped moving, barely stopped singing, one song right into the next. EVERYTHING was a prop. He flung guitars wildly--literally flinging them in arcs through the air, across the stage--switching out almost every song, for a while. He played "What's Victoria's Secret?" and a lot of things that were familiar to me, but that I didn't really know, or didn't know were his, and he covered Paul McCartney and Wing's "Jet," from Band on the Run. During "Don't Talk to Strangers," he caused many people to talk to strangers, and appealed to anyone he landed on to sing along (micing them embarrassingly, but only teasing them moderately). Was teasing and jovial generally. Fixed on "lady in the pink shirt" early on in the show ("do you even know who the hell I am?"), and returned to tease her frequently (hugged her, cheered her, had her sing, and sang "Marylou" to her, that being her name). Chatted with little kids and got them on stage to dance and sing along ("Don't Talk to Strangers" lasted about 20 minutes, what with falderal). During "Human Touch" he waded probably 30 rows into the audience, and shook every hand and touched and was touched by everyone available. Went from blazing energy of that right into "Jessie's Girl," and was fabulous. After that, introducing the band, they were playing the Beatles' "She's so Heavy," from Abbey Road, and I was highly, highly impressed.
Voice got a little weak in the low, quieter register (he never stopped leaping around; I am 34 years younger and half his activity would have winded me immediately), but he wailed on everything else. Amazing music + voice. It was loud; my ears hurt, and the bass beat very literally felt like a heart beat--I kept getting a reflexive panic that I was getting seriously arrhythmic--but that's all I could say against it. We had a great time.
I want more of all of this music. And I want more critter cuddling, have I mentioned that?
Can I have a pygmy goat, please? Or a sheep? I promise I will pretend I have an agricultural excuse, I will.. Iunno, I'll make yarn, it'll be great. Please? And two chickens?
Saturday, July 11, 2009
I know I cry over spilt milk, but...
...over Burnt Toast? Really?
Burnt Toast is a "domestic TV opera" that ran on the CBC. Hour long, made up of 8 vignettes on love. Comedic vignettes! Silly, even! Using some opera singers and some comic actors dubbed by opera singers. I watched the 8th first (...no, no reason... ::..cough::), but then I went back to the first, which is "Nothing Ever Happens In the Park."
Video of "Nothing Ever Happens In the Park."
It's described as a love hexagon--six people in the park, each in love with someone else, who is in turn in love with someone different. And when they've each been around with a verse (with some often very silly lyrics--the ones from and for the hot dog vendor, for instance - "You don't need ketchup, mustard ... you just need me," "You feed them all. Would you feed me, too?"), they come together in ... in that thing in musicals and opera that I don't know the name for, when all the different, distinct, individual parts of the song previously start intertwining and singing over one another and the themes blend and twist into something grand and lovely..
And then I was just crying.
I mean, unrequited love. Lots. And everyone's looking at someone else, who isn't looking at them, and there's a gorgeous duet part.. And opera, and that thing that always gets me when it happens ("Down Once More" in Phantom of the Opera, "One Day More" in Les Miserables, ooooooooh...),but... seriously, Burnt Toast...?
Burnt Toast is a "domestic TV opera" that ran on the CBC. Hour long, made up of 8 vignettes on love. Comedic vignettes! Silly, even! Using some opera singers and some comic actors dubbed by opera singers. I watched the 8th first (...no, no reason... ::..cough::), but then I went back to the first, which is "Nothing Ever Happens In the Park."
Video of "Nothing Ever Happens In the Park."
It's described as a love hexagon--six people in the park, each in love with someone else, who is in turn in love with someone different. And when they've each been around with a verse (with some often very silly lyrics--the ones from and for the hot dog vendor, for instance - "You don't need ketchup, mustard ... you just need me," "You feed them all. Would you feed me, too?"), they come together in ... in that thing in musicals and opera that I don't know the name for, when all the different, distinct, individual parts of the song previously start intertwining and singing over one another and the themes blend and twist into something grand and lovely..
And then I was just crying.
I mean, unrequited love. Lots. And everyone's looking at someone else, who isn't looking at them, and there's a gorgeous duet part.. And opera, and that thing that always gets me when it happens ("Down Once More" in Phantom of the Opera, "One Day More" in Les Miserables, ooooooooh...),but... seriously, Burnt Toast...?
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Happy 5th, My Love
Chris and I have now been together for a half a decade.
I am stunned and delighted by this fact. (How has it been five years?)
I love you fiercely, mister.
I am stunned and delighted by this fact. (How has it been five years?)
I love you fiercely, mister.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
AIEEEEE!
IT'S BEING RELEASED, IT'S BEING RELEASED, IT'S BEING RELEASED!!!!!!!!!!!!
....'hem.
Some of you may remember my obsessing over the New Wilco Song that we heard at the Bridge School Concert last year. I kept it to a relative minimum here, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. I have hunted for it, tried to figure out when it would be released, what it would be called, etc., ever since. I still sing it, because one listen at the concert (and then 8+ listens when someone got a bootleg online for about a week) meant I had memorized a vast portion of it before it was gone.
But it's finally being released. It's called "I'll Fight." It is fabulous. It has a Beatles-y, almost mod kind of momentum to it, but still this intrinsically Wilco-y character. It has a fantastic sense of... not stop-time, exactly, but of using brief moments of sparing instrumentation to dramatic effect. You can supposedly listen to it on their site, but the Java script doesn't seem to be working (at least for us). However, the lyrics are up online, and clearly a lot of people *have* heard it, and one might possibly be able to find it by dint of file-sharing services. (...We've already pre-ordered the album from their site, so I don't feel bad about my impatience. I'm getting to LISTEN TO THIS SONG.)
That something so dark and grisly can forcibly make me dance/sway should speak volumes. I want the song to not end, when it ends. I want it to roll on and on. I want to be swallowed up in this song.
....I'm not saying necessarily anyone else will feel this way about it? And maybe the context of the slightly rawer, rougher performance, live, in a huge mob of people is giving this more power over me than it might otherwise have? But... I think I'm okay with that.
....'hem.
Some of you may remember my obsessing over the New Wilco Song that we heard at the Bridge School Concert last year. I kept it to a relative minimum here, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. I have hunted for it, tried to figure out when it would be released, what it would be called, etc., ever since. I still sing it, because one listen at the concert (and then 8+ listens when someone got a bootleg online for about a week) meant I had memorized a vast portion of it before it was gone.
But it's finally being released. It's called "I'll Fight." It is fabulous. It has a Beatles-y, almost mod kind of momentum to it, but still this intrinsically Wilco-y character. It has a fantastic sense of... not stop-time, exactly, but of using brief moments of sparing instrumentation to dramatic effect. You can supposedly listen to it on their site, but the Java script doesn't seem to be working (at least for us). However, the lyrics are up online, and clearly a lot of people *have* heard it, and one might possibly be able to find it by dint of file-sharing services. (...We've already pre-ordered the album from their site, so I don't feel bad about my impatience. I'm getting to LISTEN TO THIS SONG.)
That something so dark and grisly can forcibly make me dance/sway should speak volumes. I want the song to not end, when it ends. I want it to roll on and on. I want to be swallowed up in this song.
....I'm not saying necessarily anyone else will feel this way about it? And maybe the context of the slightly rawer, rougher performance, live, in a huge mob of people is giving this more power over me than it might otherwise have? But... I think I'm okay with that.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Mainstream cheesecake photos letting you down?
I found myself debating on whether or not to share. But everybody deserves access to some good Pretty, and who am I to not aid in the cause?
I love it all. I do. I appreciate smut, porn, erotica, pinups, art nudes, Suggestive Photography, etc... No matter how commercial or how indy, how cliched or trashy or high brow... You name it, I like it. I love bodies. I love people enjoying their bodies. That's it. And I think it takes all kinds.
Unfortunately, "all kinds" is hard to find. Especially where men are concerned.*
By happy accident, today, however, I came across a site with a section called Stripsters--which is, in fact, hipsters stripped or stripping. They inevitably wind up in their underwear, or nude but carefully obscured, so I suppose this is almost SFW, but probably not quite, so pursue at your own risk.
In any case, these are decidedly untrashy but decidedly sexy art photos, mostly of men--slender, often scruffy, tattooed, pierced, or devestatingly arty men--and they're getting their sexy on. (There are a few gals, too, but the boys are the focus, here.) So if you're like me and think, say, Alan Cumming trumps George Clooney any day, enjoy!
Stripsters.
*Now, I hear ya'. You're saying, "But, Lauren! As far as mainstream porn is concerned, the array of 'acceptable' types for men is much larger than that for women, to begin with!" and I agree. But men like these--certainly not the slender shaggy ones, the pretty-but-unclean ones--need not apply, in any case. And I haven't found anything catering to those who want to see these men, until now.
Whereas, when looking for women with tattoos, piercings, a variety of body types, technicolor hair, goth or punk or burlesque or pinup sensibilities... one need only look as far as Suicide Girls. (Don't let the name turn you off; there is no suicide involved, I promise.) While they also definitely fall into the category of art nudes, they are often quite nude, and so, NSFW.
SG is not free, which makes me a little sad, but they've got a big, fantastic public gallery to check out, so all hope is not lost.
SG Gallery.
So go forth, my sisters and brothers, and love you on some pretty.
I love it all. I do. I appreciate smut, porn, erotica, pinups, art nudes, Suggestive Photography, etc... No matter how commercial or how indy, how cliched or trashy or high brow... You name it, I like it. I love bodies. I love people enjoying their bodies. That's it. And I think it takes all kinds.
Unfortunately, "all kinds" is hard to find. Especially where men are concerned.*
By happy accident, today, however, I came across a site with a section called Stripsters--which is, in fact, hipsters stripped or stripping. They inevitably wind up in their underwear, or nude but carefully obscured, so I suppose this is almost SFW, but probably not quite, so pursue at your own risk.
In any case, these are decidedly untrashy but decidedly sexy art photos, mostly of men--slender, often scruffy, tattooed, pierced, or devestatingly arty men--and they're getting their sexy on. (There are a few gals, too, but the boys are the focus, here.) So if you're like me and think, say, Alan Cumming trumps George Clooney any day, enjoy!
Stripsters.
*Now, I hear ya'. You're saying, "But, Lauren! As far as mainstream porn is concerned, the array of 'acceptable' types for men is much larger than that for women, to begin with!" and I agree. But men like these--certainly not the slender shaggy ones, the pretty-but-unclean ones--need not apply, in any case. And I haven't found anything catering to those who want to see these men, until now.
Whereas, when looking for women with tattoos, piercings, a variety of body types, technicolor hair, goth or punk or burlesque or pinup sensibilities... one need only look as far as Suicide Girls. (Don't let the name turn you off; there is no suicide involved, I promise.) While they also definitely fall into the category of art nudes, they are often quite nude, and so, NSFW.
SG is not free, which makes me a little sad, but they've got a big, fantastic public gallery to check out, so all hope is not lost.
SG Gallery.
So go forth, my sisters and brothers, and love you on some pretty.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
o/` Somewhere, under the sun...o/`
I was glancing over previous entries, so I thought I should give a couple updates:
First of all, they dedicated our concerts to Bob Danziger. It was lovely, though it made it a little hard to sing the first movement of the Gloria. Still, it was very nice.
My mood has been strange and fussy, for reasons I can't accurately identify. Might be the concert post-partem stress, or the billow of anxiety whiplash after being crammed in so tight with so many people, and trying to socialize afterwards. Or the stress of the shake-up of healthier habits when the crunch came.
Healthier habits I've been building up, like eating better, drinking water, getting enough exercise, getting sun. (SUN I LOVE YOU WARM SUN BRIGHT LOVE--)
...Do you ever forget to drink any water for too long, and you don't really realize you're thirsty, but as soon as you happen to take a sip of water, you can't stop? Because your body has realized its desperation and makes you guzzle, even if that doesn't work as well a taking it a sip at a time?
That's me with the Sun. (With water, too, incidentally, but that's a different problem.) I've got at least some degree of Vitamin D deficiency, and sunshine is the best way to fix that (because we're plants, apparently), and it's good for the serotonin levels, the keratosis pilaris, etc, so I've been trying to get more, recently, but I'd slipped more often, lately, and it's been too hot or too cold or not enough time or whathaveyou. But today it was so nice, and Chris reminded me at just the right time, so rather than trying to shove my clothing away from the sunless bits, I found an old sparse hand-me-down bikini that I managed to fit into again (well, "fit" is probably a strong word), and laid out in the sun, on a towel and turning at regular intervals and everything. (Redheads don't tan. Redheads don't sunbathe. So this is very unusual behavior.)
And I don't think I'd realized quite what a sun worshipper I am.
I stayed out there until I thought I'd gotten a safe and easy twenty minutes or so. (I've always been pale and burned like a leaf, but it's been getting better as I've allowed a little more and little more sun. Toughening up just bit by bit!) But then when I came back inside, I couldn't settle down. I got antsy. I kept looking out the backdoor at the sun, kept looking at my bikini'd body and my towel, the book I was reading... I put on a little sunscreen on places I thought were pinker than others, got my laptop and some water, and went back out, though I stayed in the shade. I just wanted to be out there. ...But then I crept back into the sun, just bits of me.
And when I thought my laptop would get too hot, I went back inside.
...And put down my laptop, put on some more sunscreen and went back out, again.
This happened twice more, late into the afternoon. When we had to close the sliding door and blinds to keep the heat out of the kitchen, I got between them and leaned into the hot glass. I couldn't make myself get dressed until the last minute, until I had to get it together and go to my knitting group.
I've paid for it, a little. It never seems to occur to me that color shows after more time than I realize, and though I may look fine, or even still dead pale, a while after I've sunned, I may show up burnt, later. Places that were blinding white, that I made sure didn't get screened, that I made sure got sunshine, *because* they were so pale, are now a little angry at this sudden change, especially around the edges. I have odd, awkward patches of bright red, luckily ones which will normally be covered by clothes. But I finally evened out the more visible parts of me, a bit. I've got color beyond my usual pointilism tan (where the freckles crowd together and make you look browner, if you squint from a long way away?), so we'll see if a redhead can't get a little bit of a tan, after all. And I'm taking care of the redder bits, and I've definitely gotten my D for the day. The annoying but harmless little bumps I've had on my arms since I was 12 and on my legs for several years are virtually gone, even if they're just on vacation. My skin feels good, my head feels better, my body feels vital and alive.
...But I can't stop thinking about going out and doing it again tomorrow. Oh, I'll cover up the burns, and I'll sunscreen the pink areas, I may even tell myself to be good, but I know me. It'll start as "Oh, I should water those," and turn into a as-close-as-I-can-get-to-naked sunbath. The craving's on me, and I'm nothing against a craving. And I'll take a Sun craving over a junk foody craving, anyday.
I feel desperate for it, right now, in the dark.
Sunlight, I promise I'll meet you in the morning, and we'll roll around in the grass, some more. I don't even care if anyone catches us!
First of all, they dedicated our concerts to Bob Danziger. It was lovely, though it made it a little hard to sing the first movement of the Gloria. Still, it was very nice.
My mood has been strange and fussy, for reasons I can't accurately identify. Might be the concert post-partem stress, or the billow of anxiety whiplash after being crammed in so tight with so many people, and trying to socialize afterwards. Or the stress of the shake-up of healthier habits when the crunch came.
Healthier habits I've been building up, like eating better, drinking water, getting enough exercise, getting sun. (SUN I LOVE YOU WARM SUN BRIGHT LOVE--)
...Do you ever forget to drink any water for too long, and you don't really realize you're thirsty, but as soon as you happen to take a sip of water, you can't stop? Because your body has realized its desperation and makes you guzzle, even if that doesn't work as well a taking it a sip at a time?
That's me with the Sun. (With water, too, incidentally, but that's a different problem.) I've got at least some degree of Vitamin D deficiency, and sunshine is the best way to fix that (because we're plants, apparently), and it's good for the serotonin levels, the keratosis pilaris, etc, so I've been trying to get more, recently, but I'd slipped more often, lately, and it's been too hot or too cold or not enough time or whathaveyou. But today it was so nice, and Chris reminded me at just the right time, so rather than trying to shove my clothing away from the sunless bits, I found an old sparse hand-me-down bikini that I managed to fit into again (well, "fit" is probably a strong word), and laid out in the sun, on a towel and turning at regular intervals and everything. (Redheads don't tan. Redheads don't sunbathe. So this is very unusual behavior.)
And I don't think I'd realized quite what a sun worshipper I am.
I stayed out there until I thought I'd gotten a safe and easy twenty minutes or so. (I've always been pale and burned like a leaf, but it's been getting better as I've allowed a little more and little more sun. Toughening up just bit by bit!) But then when I came back inside, I couldn't settle down. I got antsy. I kept looking out the backdoor at the sun, kept looking at my bikini'd body and my towel, the book I was reading... I put on a little sunscreen on places I thought were pinker than others, got my laptop and some water, and went back out, though I stayed in the shade. I just wanted to be out there. ...But then I crept back into the sun, just bits of me.
And when I thought my laptop would get too hot, I went back inside.
...And put down my laptop, put on some more sunscreen and went back out, again.
This happened twice more, late into the afternoon. When we had to close the sliding door and blinds to keep the heat out of the kitchen, I got between them and leaned into the hot glass. I couldn't make myself get dressed until the last minute, until I had to get it together and go to my knitting group.
I've paid for it, a little. It never seems to occur to me that color shows after more time than I realize, and though I may look fine, or even still dead pale, a while after I've sunned, I may show up burnt, later. Places that were blinding white, that I made sure didn't get screened, that I made sure got sunshine, *because* they were so pale, are now a little angry at this sudden change, especially around the edges. I have odd, awkward patches of bright red, luckily ones which will normally be covered by clothes. But I finally evened out the more visible parts of me, a bit. I've got color beyond my usual pointilism tan (where the freckles crowd together and make you look browner, if you squint from a long way away?), so we'll see if a redhead can't get a little bit of a tan, after all. And I'm taking care of the redder bits, and I've definitely gotten my D for the day. The annoying but harmless little bumps I've had on my arms since I was 12 and on my legs for several years are virtually gone, even if they're just on vacation. My skin feels good, my head feels better, my body feels vital and alive.
...But I can't stop thinking about going out and doing it again tomorrow. Oh, I'll cover up the burns, and I'll sunscreen the pink areas, I may even tell myself to be good, but I know me. It'll start as "Oh, I should water those," and turn into a as-close-as-I-can-get-to-naked sunbath. The craving's on me, and I'm nothing against a craving. And I'll take a Sun craving over a junk foody craving, anyday.
I feel desperate for it, right now, in the dark.
Sunlight, I promise I'll meet you in the morning, and we'll roll around in the grass, some more. I don't even care if anyone catches us!
Monday, May 18, 2009
The concerts!
Friday night, we kinda' crapped up the Poulenc. There's no denying it. It didn't turn up in the review, thank goodness, but we knew. We sopranos were flat, flat, flat. The cardinal rule of "only sing as soft as you can sing WELL" had been forgotten.
So Daniel reminded us. A lot. But in a helpfully "You can totally do this" kind of way.
So on Saturday night, we totally did. We nailed it. Daniel told us how much he loved us, when we were leaving the stage for intermission. It was creepy and beautiful and I adored it.
On Friday night, the Beethoven was excellent--even the 16 measures of forte high A's after several measures of more A's and G's, even the fast bits with the frickin' high B's. You could hear AND UNDERSTAND our German. We were great. The bass soloist loved on us to Daniel, as did the occasionally adversarial brass section.
But on Saturday night, we blew the doors off the place. When we burst in on our first big "Freude schöner götterfunken," my mother up in the balcony said we drowned out the orchestra.
This is the same symphony orchestra they usually have to mike us over, so that we're not drowned out by the brass alone. But this time, instead of 80 of us, there were 180 of us.
Blew the doors off.
I kept talking to people about how exciting it was to get to do this, how much I was looking forward to it, to this opportunity--how many times do you get to be in a group of 180 wailing on "Ode to Joy"? How often do you get to be part of something so big? And Friday night, I'd been enthusiastic, but measured. I almost felt like I was missing something in the experience, like I wasn't letting myself commit to the point of breaking.
Saturday, I put everything into that huge burst, and was gasping by the time we had a break in singing. My voice started to go towards the end, but I managed to keep it alive through the many more measures of (guess!) high A's. I felt possessed. I felt filled past my seams with it. We were enormous and beautiful. And after the last götterfunkens with the huge orchestra attack, it was all I could do to keep from bawling. On Friday night, people got up for an ovation. On Saturday night, they shot up as one.
I cried all the way out to the car. I was so happy, so ecstatic, and all the stress of it broke open to let go and I cried and cried. Strangers stopped passing chorus members to tell us how wonderful we were. The soloists stopped in the hall to shake our hands--and the soloists were amaaaaazing. The orchestra was amaaaaaazing. Everything was brilliant. The narcissist in me went, despite the love, fairly unsated (I was going to meet Chris/Mom/Zach in the lobby, but they came out and caught me outside, and carried me off). I realized when we were gone that I was mad at them for taking me away from the basking. I wanted to linger and be surrounded by people who were full of that music, who loved us for it. I wanted to find the other people I knew who I'd heard would be there, and let them tell me how good we were. I wanted to make Chris turn the car around.
I'm suffering post-partum. I don't get to have this back, again. But it's something I get to always have, too.
But actually holding that in my arms, living in that throng... I feel so disconnected to be out of it. That part of it I don't get to have, anymore.
Until next time.
(Please, please, please. Again, and again, and once more...)
So Daniel reminded us. A lot. But in a helpfully "You can totally do this" kind of way.
So on Saturday night, we totally did. We nailed it. Daniel told us how much he loved us, when we were leaving the stage for intermission. It was creepy and beautiful and I adored it.
On Friday night, the Beethoven was excellent--even the 16 measures of forte high A's after several measures of more A's and G's, even the fast bits with the frickin' high B's. You could hear AND UNDERSTAND our German. We were great. The bass soloist loved on us to Daniel, as did the occasionally adversarial brass section.
But on Saturday night, we blew the doors off the place. When we burst in on our first big "Freude schöner götterfunken," my mother up in the balcony said we drowned out the orchestra.
This is the same symphony orchestra they usually have to mike us over, so that we're not drowned out by the brass alone. But this time, instead of 80 of us, there were 180 of us.
Blew the doors off.
I kept talking to people about how exciting it was to get to do this, how much I was looking forward to it, to this opportunity--how many times do you get to be in a group of 180 wailing on "Ode to Joy"? How often do you get to be part of something so big? And Friday night, I'd been enthusiastic, but measured. I almost felt like I was missing something in the experience, like I wasn't letting myself commit to the point of breaking.
Saturday, I put everything into that huge burst, and was gasping by the time we had a break in singing. My voice started to go towards the end, but I managed to keep it alive through the many more measures of (guess!) high A's. I felt possessed. I felt filled past my seams with it. We were enormous and beautiful. And after the last götterfunkens with the huge orchestra attack, it was all I could do to keep from bawling. On Friday night, people got up for an ovation. On Saturday night, they shot up as one.
I cried all the way out to the car. I was so happy, so ecstatic, and all the stress of it broke open to let go and I cried and cried. Strangers stopped passing chorus members to tell us how wonderful we were. The soloists stopped in the hall to shake our hands--and the soloists were amaaaaazing. The orchestra was amaaaaaazing. Everything was brilliant. The narcissist in me went, despite the love, fairly unsated (I was going to meet Chris/Mom/Zach in the lobby, but they came out and caught me outside, and carried me off). I realized when we were gone that I was mad at them for taking me away from the basking. I wanted to linger and be surrounded by people who were full of that music, who loved us for it. I wanted to find the other people I knew who I'd heard would be there, and let them tell me how good we were. I wanted to make Chris turn the car around.
I'm suffering post-partum. I don't get to have this back, again. But it's something I get to always have, too.
But actually holding that in my arms, living in that throng... I feel so disconnected to be out of it. That part of it I don't get to have, anymore.
Until next time.
(Please, please, please. Again, and again, and once more...)
VIDEO!
VIDEO of us rehearsing!!!
This turned up on the Modesto Bee site, and it's got pieces of one of our last rehearsals before the concert, and interviews with our lovely Maestro and our wonderful Soprano soloist. I'm not sure you can see me in there, because I haven't watched it all yet, but you can see and hear us some! Enjoy!! WOO!
EDIT:
Aha, I apparently do exist!:
This turned up on the Modesto Bee site, and it's got pieces of one of our last rehearsals before the concert, and interviews with our lovely Maestro and our wonderful Soprano soloist. I'm not sure you can see me in there, because I haven't watched it all yet, but you can see and hear us some! Enjoy!! WOO!
EDIT:
Aha, I apparently do exist!:
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Final rehearsal, concerts...
...are tomorrow afternoon, tomorrow night, and Saturday night, respectively. My mama and brother are coming up to hear me sing (WOO!) and stay the night Saturday. I am going to be dead dog beat by Sunday morning. I was fine, and now I'm terrified. I'm not sure if I'm too terrified or not terrified enough. (We totally crapped up the Poulenc, but hopefully the old adage of "bad dress rehearsal = good concert" holds out. However, we rocked the Beethoven. Yikes...)
Must remember:
- to actually follow the score for the Poulenc, this time.
- the last minute phrasing changes for the Poulenc, the last minute (literally--as we were leaving tonight) Oops-there's-a-wrong-note-in-your-score-fix-it change for Beethoven.
- to bring food and dress to cram in tomorrow between rehearsal (4-6:30) and call (7:00).
- to smile
- to enjoy myself
- to not get lazy
- to not freak out, surrounded by a freefloating cloud of anxiety
- to sleep, now, rather than sit up writing in blogger instead
Wish me luck! Think happy thoughts!
Must remember:
- to actually follow the score for the Poulenc, this time.
- the last minute phrasing changes for the Poulenc, the last minute (literally--as we were leaving tonight) Oops-there's-a-wrong-note-in-your-score-fix-it change for Beethoven.
- to bring food and dress to cram in tomorrow between rehearsal (4-6:30) and call (7:00).
- to smile
- to enjoy myself
- to not get lazy
- to not freak out, surrounded by a freefloating cloud of anxiety
- to sleep, now, rather than sit up writing in blogger instead
Wish me luck! Think happy thoughts!
Thursday, May 7, 2009
If Music Be the Food of Love...
Last night we were at the faculty recognition awards. We wound up sitting near some music faculty, and talking about the Music for the Elementary School Teacher class, which, like all classes in the Music department, require attending live music performances. We talked about how sometimes it's the first time students have ever even seen live music--the woman I was talking to (who'd have to be leaving to go teach that class) recalled a response written by a student that mentioned seeing a "really big red clarinet."
I laughed and clapped, because I knew exactly what she was meant: "Oh! Bob Danziger's bassoon!" I almost said, but didn't, for some reason. It got a little busy, a little loud, and it slipped my mind. Maybe I thought it would sound a little familiar, or like I was trying to sound involved, if I identified a faculty member by a poor description of their instrument. I don't really know.
But I loved Dr. Danziger, and his bassoon. I took Music of World Cultures from him in my very first semester at Stanislaus, and had the most wonderful experience--he was so warm and dynamic, and introduced us all to so much fantastic music. He was free with encouragement, friendly, talented--a joy to be around, always. I got lucky enough to have him for my advisor for the Music concentration in my degree, and to just get to see him around campus, sometimes. I really only had maybe two classes from him, but he stands out as one of my favorite teachers on the campus, one I always think of when I remember, despite all its problems, how great this campus really can be. It has had people like him there.
He told us, during class, about this bassoon (bassoon being his instrument of choice). He'd had it commissioned in Germany five years earlier, and it was going to be done any day--he was going to have to fly to Germany to collect it and bring it home. The next semester, waiting for a concert to begin, I saw the most beautiful red bassoon on the stage, and I knew that was it--that he'd gotten his beautiful new baby and loved it, and that he'd be playing it for us that night.
Any time I've seen a stage with a red bassoon, since, I've felt a little better, because I knew I'd be seeing him play--I've never seen another bassoon that really looked like it. And it was such a joy to be around him, even just to hear him. He played with the school ensembles, and we still go see those, and with the Modesto Symphony Orchestra, so any nerves I'd have during a concert, I could just look around the stage and find the red bassoon--and know a sweet, warm, wonderful person would be nearby, soon, playing with us. It calmed me down and made me happy.
I wish I could find a more recent picture of him--one taken with the red one.
I just found out this afternoon that he died Monday night. Here is is lovely obituary.
It just occurred to me, writing this, that in a week and a half, when we sing Poulenc's Gloria, and Beethoven's 9th Symphony (Ode to Joy), he isn't going to be there with us. His bassoon isn't going to be on the stage.
But the obit, and the letter Chris got from the school president, both closed with this:
"If Music be the food of love, play on."
So I'm going to go back to crying, now, but then I'm going to go back to singing, too. He will be very, very, very missed. He was loved very much.
EDIT to add: I'd been blanking on the other class I took with him. Not what was in it--I had a couple vivid memories--but what it actually was. I remembered, after looking through the class schedule*: it was Music for the Elementary School Teacher. (The woman I'd been talking to had been surprised when I said I took that class from M., because that was the version for music majors--Music in Elementary Schools. I'd forgotten I'd actually taken both, trying to reach my units. It was just his night to be evoked, I guess.)
He'd advised that could be okay to take both--I'd taken his first. He also told me I should consolidate my student loans as soon as I graduated (I forgot and didn't, but I keep starting to), and that when I was in his classes, he'd used my scantron tests as the key to grade the others, because I always aced them (remember how I said he was encouraging?). He also said I should learn the bassoon. :) He'd taught us recorder in the Music for the Elementary (etc) class, and I'd immediately picked it up, along with the alto recorder, and he knew I played flute, a little clarinet, etc... And not that I'd ever say this to an aficionado of one woodwind or another, but they're all essentially the same instrument. Maybe he thought I'd pick it up quickly. ...I'd kind of like to. Or the oboe. I've never tried a double-reed wind. I wished he could teach me.
My brain keeps playing tricks on me: for about twenty minutes, I kept thinking we should try to get to a couple more concerts on campus, soon, before we lost the chance to see him again. S'not fair.
I couldn't think of what music to put on--just knew I needed music. I'm listening to ABBA's "Thank You For the Music," now.
Thank you for the music,
the songs I'm singing
Thanks for all the joy they're bringing
Who can live without it?
I ask in all honesty,
What would life be?
Without a song or a dance, what are we?
So I say thank you for the music,
for giving it to me.
...He taught us Jewish songs and dances he had learned living in Israel. I still remember--and can sing--the refrain to Simkhes Toyre. He taught us about early music--which I did my project on, for Music of World Cultures. He used "Down in the jungle, living in a tent, best part is: no rent" as part of teaching us the ta/ti ti/tiri tiri/timri ta method of rhythm. He taught us about (and had us use) Orff instruments. I had never gotten to have music ed, in school--other people remember these things from being a kid, but they were all new to me, and it was like learning all of these things new. It was like getting to be a kid, and just revel in music, again.
I laughed and clapped, because I knew exactly what she was meant: "Oh! Bob Danziger's bassoon!" I almost said, but didn't, for some reason. It got a little busy, a little loud, and it slipped my mind. Maybe I thought it would sound a little familiar, or like I was trying to sound involved, if I identified a faculty member by a poor description of their instrument. I don't really know.
But I loved Dr. Danziger, and his bassoon. I took Music of World Cultures from him in my very first semester at Stanislaus, and had the most wonderful experience--he was so warm and dynamic, and introduced us all to so much fantastic music. He was free with encouragement, friendly, talented--a joy to be around, always. I got lucky enough to have him for my advisor for the Music concentration in my degree, and to just get to see him around campus, sometimes. I really only had maybe two classes from him, but he stands out as one of my favorite teachers on the campus, one I always think of when I remember, despite all its problems, how great this campus really can be. It has had people like him there.
He told us, during class, about this bassoon (bassoon being his instrument of choice). He'd had it commissioned in Germany five years earlier, and it was going to be done any day--he was going to have to fly to Germany to collect it and bring it home. The next semester, waiting for a concert to begin, I saw the most beautiful red bassoon on the stage, and I knew that was it--that he'd gotten his beautiful new baby and loved it, and that he'd be playing it for us that night.
Any time I've seen a stage with a red bassoon, since, I've felt a little better, because I knew I'd be seeing him play--I've never seen another bassoon that really looked like it. And it was such a joy to be around him, even just to hear him. He played with the school ensembles, and we still go see those, and with the Modesto Symphony Orchestra, so any nerves I'd have during a concert, I could just look around the stage and find the red bassoon--and know a sweet, warm, wonderful person would be nearby, soon, playing with us. It calmed me down and made me happy.
I wish I could find a more recent picture of him--one taken with the red one.
I just found out this afternoon that he died Monday night. Here is is lovely obituary.
It just occurred to me, writing this, that in a week and a half, when we sing Poulenc's Gloria, and Beethoven's 9th Symphony (Ode to Joy), he isn't going to be there with us. His bassoon isn't going to be on the stage.
But the obit, and the letter Chris got from the school president, both closed with this:
"If Music be the food of love, play on."
So I'm going to go back to crying, now, but then I'm going to go back to singing, too. He will be very, very, very missed. He was loved very much.
EDIT to add: I'd been blanking on the other class I took with him. Not what was in it--I had a couple vivid memories--but what it actually was. I remembered, after looking through the class schedule*: it was Music for the Elementary School Teacher. (The woman I'd been talking to had been surprised when I said I took that class from M., because that was the version for music majors--Music in Elementary Schools. I'd forgotten I'd actually taken both, trying to reach my units. It was just his night to be evoked, I guess.)
He'd advised that could be okay to take both--I'd taken his first. He also told me I should consolidate my student loans as soon as I graduated (I forgot and didn't, but I keep starting to), and that when I was in his classes, he'd used my scantron tests as the key to grade the others, because I always aced them (remember how I said he was encouraging?). He also said I should learn the bassoon. :) He'd taught us recorder in the Music for the Elementary (etc) class, and I'd immediately picked it up, along with the alto recorder, and he knew I played flute, a little clarinet, etc... And not that I'd ever say this to an aficionado of one woodwind or another, but they're all essentially the same instrument. Maybe he thought I'd pick it up quickly. ...I'd kind of like to. Or the oboe. I've never tried a double-reed wind. I wished he could teach me.
My brain keeps playing tricks on me: for about twenty minutes, I kept thinking we should try to get to a couple more concerts on campus, soon, before we lost the chance to see him again. S'not fair.
I couldn't think of what music to put on--just knew I needed music. I'm listening to ABBA's "Thank You For the Music," now.
Thank you for the music,
the songs I'm singing
Thanks for all the joy they're bringing
Who can live without it?
I ask in all honesty,
What would life be?
Without a song or a dance, what are we?
So I say thank you for the music,
for giving it to me.
...He taught us Jewish songs and dances he had learned living in Israel. I still remember--and can sing--the refrain to Simkhes Toyre. He taught us about early music--which I did my project on, for Music of World Cultures. He used "Down in the jungle, living in a tent, best part is: no rent" as part of teaching us the ta/ti ti/tiri tiri/timri ta method of rhythm. He taught us about (and had us use) Orff instruments. I had never gotten to have music ed, in school--other people remember these things from being a kid, but they were all new to me, and it was like learning all of these things new. It was like getting to be a kid, and just revel in music, again.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Good Day, Sunshine!
I actually feel good--really good--for the first time in a long time. I actually managed to be physically and mentally active, get exercise AND work done, AND an errand attempted (but no score), all before 10, which has been generally unheard of, for me. It's a gorgeous morning (and yes, I have been singing, humming, and whistling "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning" all morning), because it's bright blue and utterly temperate and the SUN IS OUT AGAIN FINALLY OH GOD I'VE MISSED YOU SUN LOVE ME SUN WARM ME WARM BRIGHT LOVE JOY SUN LOVE
....May need the sunshine a bit more than I had previously realized.
AND--AND!--we have fantastic news out of two more on the Eastern seaboard. When I woke up this morning, it was all up in the air--will this get veto'd, will it pass other votes, etc--but at least one appears to be confirmed:
MAINE has legalized same-sex marriage!
And DC's City Council has voted to recognize same-sex marriage--but this is up to the legislature to approve. (Can we get them a little statehood, yet, please?) A bill has also been passed in New Hampshire, but awaits a signing or veto from their governor.
See, California? New England hasn't fallen into the ocean. It's really OK.
Now, I'm going to modify my sourdough blueberry muffin plan (to account for my failure to attain muffin cups) and then go into my back yard to get some more SUN and maybe try to plant some more seeds.
EDIT: Did I mention there are actually lots of cheerful chirping birdies singing, too? It's crazy fantastic.
....May need the sunshine a bit more than I had previously realized.
AND--AND!--we have fantastic news out of two more on the Eastern seaboard. When I woke up this morning, it was all up in the air--will this get veto'd, will it pass other votes, etc--but at least one appears to be confirmed:
MAINE has legalized same-sex marriage!
And DC's City Council has voted to recognize same-sex marriage--but this is up to the legislature to approve. (Can we get them a little statehood, yet, please?) A bill has also been passed in New Hampshire, but awaits a signing or veto from their governor.
See, California? New England hasn't fallen into the ocean. It's really OK.
Now, I'm going to modify my sourdough blueberry muffin plan (to account for my failure to attain muffin cups) and then go into my back yard to get some more SUN and maybe try to plant some more seeds.
EDIT: Did I mention there are actually lots of cheerful chirping birdies singing, too? It's crazy fantastic.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Reno recap:
Background: We are not gamblers, and we are not really vacation takers; our friends had an extra free room voucher, and there was free parking, free drinks when you gamble, and gorgeous heated pools and jacuzzis (also free to guests). How could we say no?? The bathroom in our room alone was as big as my bedroom, and there was much gorgeousness to be experienced. So, while was lost a grand total of $29.09 on various bettings, there is no way on earth we would have been able to obtain even the drinks--even a handful of our drinks--in any similar place for that much, let alone a gorgeous room, more drinks than was probably advisable, disco dancing, and fireside and ocean themed bars and glass flowery chandeliers. Plus, we got to take a little road trip, see our friends, people watch, and look at All The Sparkly Lights. I even got to swim for a little while, something for which I have been exceedingly desperate for many, many, many, many months. Many. Srsly.
Played: penny slots, $5 blackjack and roulette. One $0.25 slot that still had a crank arm.
Watched: Penguins vs. Capitals, the Kentucky Derby (cried), Hatton vs. Pacquiao (cried), and the last 20 minutes of the stock car race.
Dodged: hundreds of strangely vaguely menacing but supposedly good-time-guy freemasons moving en masse, a very sweet flirt, and my own dog impulse to feel up all the cocktail waitresses.
Trip: Success!
Observations:
I am both more and less sensitive to smoke than I realized.
I enjoy random winning way too much, and am easily delighted by flashing screens and sound effects.
I am a kinda' sore loser, when there's not a human I'm losing to. I am generally not at all sore when there are humans involved.
I want to play more cards.
Boxing is essentially tragic and really probably not for me.
Craps is fun to watch.
Gamblers (in Reno, this weekend, at least) are not as visibly superstitious as I would have guessed.
Probability is still just as fun as when I was taking AP Stats in high school, and I am way too happy to get my geek on about it.
I compulsively count changes in amounts of money and keep running tallies. I do not count cards, except for in pinochle.
I still don't get Nascar.
Underdog stories--even if the underdogs are actually horses--make me absurdly happy.
Anything shiny, neon, or sparkly makes me very happy--I am, essentially, a crow.
Going without seeing the sunshine for 3 days wreaks havoc on my brain chemistry, and makes me very unhappy.
It is hard to be menacing in something as goofy as a jester hat, but if you manage it, you graduate up to Really Scary.
Cow bell is always a good move in music, and usually sexy. I need a cow bell.
You will not get carded until you ask for a Shirley Temple.
Even if they are flighty carders, casino cocktail servers are freaking hot.
Now, my nose and eyes are settling down, the smoke is almost out of my laundry, and my kitties are approaching almost-recovered-from-petting-deficiency. I think I'm going let my brain melt a little. LOVE.
Played: penny slots, $5 blackjack and roulette. One $0.25 slot that still had a crank arm.
Watched: Penguins vs. Capitals, the Kentucky Derby (cried), Hatton vs. Pacquiao (cried), and the last 20 minutes of the stock car race.
Dodged: hundreds of strangely vaguely menacing but supposedly good-time-guy freemasons moving en masse, a very sweet flirt, and my own dog impulse to feel up all the cocktail waitresses.
Trip: Success!
Observations:
I am both more and less sensitive to smoke than I realized.
I enjoy random winning way too much, and am easily delighted by flashing screens and sound effects.
I am a kinda' sore loser, when there's not a human I'm losing to. I am generally not at all sore when there are humans involved.
I want to play more cards.
Boxing is essentially tragic and really probably not for me.
Craps is fun to watch.
Gamblers (in Reno, this weekend, at least) are not as visibly superstitious as I would have guessed.
Probability is still just as fun as when I was taking AP Stats in high school, and I am way too happy to get my geek on about it.
I compulsively count changes in amounts of money and keep running tallies. I do not count cards, except for in pinochle.
I still don't get Nascar.
Underdog stories--even if the underdogs are actually horses--make me absurdly happy.
Anything shiny, neon, or sparkly makes me very happy--I am, essentially, a crow.
Going without seeing the sunshine for 3 days wreaks havoc on my brain chemistry, and makes me very unhappy.
It is hard to be menacing in something as goofy as a jester hat, but if you manage it, you graduate up to Really Scary.
Cow bell is always a good move in music, and usually sexy. I need a cow bell.
You will not get carded until you ask for a Shirley Temple.
Even if they are flighty carders, casino cocktail servers are freaking hot.
Now, my nose and eyes are settling down, the smoke is almost out of my laundry, and my kitties are approaching almost-recovered-from-petting-deficiency. I think I'm going let my brain melt a little. LOVE.
Friday, May 1, 2009
o/`Ju-ust to watch him die... o/`
Okay, so I'M GOING TO RENO. But I'm a little worried about it, because you know what happened the last time...
(Video. Or, lyrics, if you prefer.)
(Oh, you knew that was coming. Right? ....Right..?)
...I've been fairly insufferable, lately, frankly. Chris and I learned to play/sing this, respectively, and we do it pretty much every night, but that doesn't stop me from singing it most days, lately, too. Or making the "You remember what happened the last time I was in Reno..." joke. Over. And. Over.
This is not unusual for me, generally speaking. For one, I am the human jukebox, and if there's an applicable song line (or movie quote), I produce it, with no ability to stop myself. It's my cryptonite--that and female trios. No resistance. (When we were in New York, imagine how often I sang "On Broadway," "59th Street Bridge Song," "Thank You Lord For Sending Me the F-Train"... even "Take the A-Train," people. I am lucky no one killed me.) And I enable myself over much - I make themed mixes, so I have plenty ammunition for many topics. I made a "Talking about the Weather" mix, a Garden mix, an epic traveling mix, and a sugar and sweets mix; we've been working on a jailbait mix, a card playing mix (see below), and (tada!) a prison mix--and most of those, we're learning to sing and play. Hence the heavy emphasis on "Folsom Prison Blues" in our nightly guitar-ing-and-singing.
But I'm also especially vulnerable to that one, it seems; Chris has been brushing up on his fingerpicking, and there's an incredibly insidious, catchy picking pattern he's worked up for "Folsom." I can hear it from across the house, from downstairs, from out in the yard, and I start singing. I can be mid sentence in a conversation. I can have food in my mouth. It doesn't matter; the pattern says "It's time to jump in," and I jump in. It's like double-dutch (do you remember playing double-dutch?); I hear the rhythm and start rocking foot to foot until I can hop in, and then I can't stop for anything. I sometimes think Chris thinks this is funny.
Anyway! This all comes up because of this:
A little while ago, I was downloading "Poker Face," since I saw it mentioned today! ::blows kisses:: And I've been vaguely curious about this Lady Gaga person, anyway (since burlesque is for the win). So, I played it and enjoyed it, and started thinking about that cards playing mix we've been talking about making, and thinking, "Hey, that should go on it!" (even though we don't play poker--most card songs are poker songs, and we've accepted that). I thought, "Maybe I should put together that mix--what with us going to a place of card-playing and gamling. It would be useful on the road." Then the song ended, and I was a little late getting to my iTunes to stop it going on to whatever was next (it's always on random).
And it decided to play me "Folsom Prison Blues" (the version what I have linked above).
IT IS FATE. Cards/gambling mix ahoy!
ETA: So far, Lady Gaga's "Poker Face," Kenny Rogers' "The Gambler," Garth Brooks' "Two of a Kind, Workin' on a Full House," AC/DC's "She's Got the Jack," Motorhead's "The Ace of Spades," Bob Dylan's "Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts" (LOVE!), Bob Seger's "Still the Same"... the Eagles' "Desperado" has a Queen of Diamonds/Hearts verse, so that counts... Possibly "Viva Las Vegas" and "Folsom Prison Blues" just for the.. y'know.. Vegas and Reno references...
...Um. Why are so many of the cards songs gooey modern country and hair metal/arena rock? Any other suggestions, guys?
ETA afterwards: Found a handy list, with a lot I know and love and had completely forgotten. Added Steely Dan's "Deacon Blues," Steve Miller Band's "The Joker," "House of the Rising Sun" (this one was Joan Baez), The Pogues' "Bottle of Smoke," ABBA's "The Winner Takes It All," and (duh!) "Luck Be a Lady Tonight" -- Marlon Brando's version from the movie (my favorite--sorry, Frank). And somehow forgot to add (even though I had it) Suzanne Vega's "No Cheap Thrill."
(Video. Or, lyrics, if you prefer.)
(Oh, you knew that was coming. Right? ....Right..?)
...I've been fairly insufferable, lately, frankly. Chris and I learned to play/sing this, respectively, and we do it pretty much every night, but that doesn't stop me from singing it most days, lately, too. Or making the "You remember what happened the last time I was in Reno..." joke. Over. And. Over.
This is not unusual for me, generally speaking. For one, I am the human jukebox, and if there's an applicable song line (or movie quote), I produce it, with no ability to stop myself. It's my cryptonite--that and female trios. No resistance. (When we were in New York, imagine how often I sang "On Broadway," "59th Street Bridge Song," "Thank You Lord For Sending Me the F-Train"... even "Take the A-Train," people. I am lucky no one killed me.) And I enable myself over much - I make themed mixes, so I have plenty ammunition for many topics. I made a "Talking about the Weather" mix, a Garden mix, an epic traveling mix, and a sugar and sweets mix; we've been working on a jailbait mix, a card playing mix (see below), and (tada!) a prison mix--and most of those, we're learning to sing and play. Hence the heavy emphasis on "Folsom Prison Blues" in our nightly guitar-ing-and-singing.
But I'm also especially vulnerable to that one, it seems; Chris has been brushing up on his fingerpicking, and there's an incredibly insidious, catchy picking pattern he's worked up for "Folsom." I can hear it from across the house, from downstairs, from out in the yard, and I start singing. I can be mid sentence in a conversation. I can have food in my mouth. It doesn't matter; the pattern says "It's time to jump in," and I jump in. It's like double-dutch (do you remember playing double-dutch?); I hear the rhythm and start rocking foot to foot until I can hop in, and then I can't stop for anything. I sometimes think Chris thinks this is funny.
Anyway! This all comes up because of this:
A little while ago, I was downloading "Poker Face," since I saw it mentioned today! ::blows kisses:: And I've been vaguely curious about this Lady Gaga person, anyway (since burlesque is for the win). So, I played it and enjoyed it, and started thinking about that cards playing mix we've been talking about making, and thinking, "Hey, that should go on it!" (even though we don't play poker--most card songs are poker songs, and we've accepted that). I thought, "Maybe I should put together that mix--what with us going to a place of card-playing and gamling. It would be useful on the road." Then the song ended, and I was a little late getting to my iTunes to stop it going on to whatever was next (it's always on random).
And it decided to play me "Folsom Prison Blues" (the version what I have linked above).
IT IS FATE. Cards/gambling mix ahoy!
ETA: So far, Lady Gaga's "Poker Face," Kenny Rogers' "The Gambler," Garth Brooks' "Two of a Kind, Workin' on a Full House," AC/DC's "She's Got the Jack," Motorhead's "The Ace of Spades," Bob Dylan's "Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts" (LOVE!), Bob Seger's "Still the Same"... the Eagles' "Desperado" has a Queen of Diamonds/Hearts verse, so that counts... Possibly "Viva Las Vegas" and "Folsom Prison Blues" just for the.. y'know.. Vegas and Reno references...
...Um. Why are so many of the cards songs gooey modern country and hair metal/arena rock? Any other suggestions, guys?
ETA afterwards: Found a handy list, with a lot I know and love and had completely forgotten. Added Steely Dan's "Deacon Blues," Steve Miller Band's "The Joker," "House of the Rising Sun" (this one was Joan Baez), The Pogues' "Bottle of Smoke," ABBA's "The Winner Takes It All," and (duh!) "Luck Be a Lady Tonight" -- Marlon Brando's version from the movie (my favorite--sorry, Frank). And somehow forgot to add (even though I had it) Suzanne Vega's "No Cheap Thrill."
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
After the Cuts
I give up. They're in bathroom stalls on campus and being posted on facebook by people I do not know, but whom I now de facto like (Save Our Classes - CSU Stanislaus--good job, guys!) I should at least be able to share them with you. Though whether they mean much out of context, I couldn't say. So, this is a set of political cartoons called "After the Cuts," about the situation faculty and staff at the CSU--particularly contingent--face with the budget cuts.
Disclaimer: This is NOT an official production of any faculty or staff agency or group. Strips may be reprinted at will for campus posting, but not for profit. Higher res/larger scans are available upon request. © Me and concept contributors, all rights reserved etc etc etc.
That said:
After the Cuts 1:
Will Teach For Food.
After the Cuts 2:
New Positions - Department Chair
After the Cuts 3:
New Positions - Supplemental Security
ETA:
There was a question about student-centric ones, so we started plotting. Here's the first:
After the Cuts 4 - Student Edition!
The New Wait List
Ask and ye shall receive!
ETA 2, weeks later:
Just thought I should have the fifth one linked here. This one hasn't shown up anywhere, but I feel like I should still give it a little love. :)
After the Cuts 5
Classes Are Consolidated
Disclaimer: This is NOT an official production of any faculty or staff agency or group. Strips may be reprinted at will for campus posting, but not for profit. Higher res/larger scans are available upon request. © Me and concept contributors, all rights reserved etc etc etc.
That said:
After the Cuts 1:
Will Teach For Food.
After the Cuts 2:
New Positions - Department Chair
After the Cuts 3:
New Positions - Supplemental Security
ETA:
There was a question about student-centric ones, so we started plotting. Here's the first:
After the Cuts 4 - Student Edition!
The New Wait List
Ask and ye shall receive!
ETA 2, weeks later:
Just thought I should have the fifth one linked here. This one hasn't shown up anywhere, but I feel like I should still give it a little love. :)
After the Cuts 5
Classes Are Consolidated
A List
1) I think I need a seam ripper. I need to accept the fact that I am not built appropriate to... um... any clothing, especially long tops, and that it will be easier on me to modify them if I can just rip the seams and resew, rather than pinch some places, cut open and re-hem others, and try to dart to fix the places where they bunch in between. Also, it will probably look better. It's one thing to cut up t-shirts, but nicer things I should do properly, I think.
2) I am drawing political cartoons. This is my first time ever trying them. It is fun, but also depressing. (This is because the point is essentially, "What happens to all of the people at the university who get laid off, if you cut all our funding?" = Bleak. But also sometimes snarky. Maybe I will link, but I am Shy.)
3) I had better get over feeling Shy, because there's been a certain amount of copying and distributing. (TERROR.) There's a kind of poster blitz going down on campus. There's also Facebook networking, which is kind of weird and wonderful. Also, students with Facebook are a Force, just have to say.
4) I don't know how I still feel shy, when I'm such a praise whore. Regardez:
Look! I modified the Bunny pattern to make a rat for my best gal pal, who has a cute white rat who is (quite charmingly) named Bunny. (That is said gal pal's lap, by the way, that the knit ratty is on.) It is SO CUTE. There is also, now, a fleet of bunnies. (...If you can have a fleet of three.) Sweetness ahoy!
...ETA, already:
5) ....Re: 2: I also need to make more of the cartoons. They have started turning up places on campus without us having put them there, after all of three hours. ::....so puffed up, right now:: Granted, they were given to people who wanted to also engage in sign-putting-up, and it is certainly they who have arranged it? But Chris just walked into the bathroom and saw one there. That's... well, awesome, frankly.
2) I am drawing political cartoons. This is my first time ever trying them. It is fun, but also depressing. (This is because the point is essentially, "What happens to all of the people at the university who get laid off, if you cut all our funding?" = Bleak. But also sometimes snarky. Maybe I will link, but I am Shy.)
3) I had better get over feeling Shy, because there's been a certain amount of copying and distributing. (TERROR.) There's a kind of poster blitz going down on campus. There's also Facebook networking, which is kind of weird and wonderful. Also, students with Facebook are a Force, just have to say.
4) I don't know how I still feel shy, when I'm such a praise whore. Regardez:
Look! I modified the Bunny pattern to make a rat for my best gal pal, who has a cute white rat who is (quite charmingly) named Bunny. (That is said gal pal's lap, by the way, that the knit ratty is on.) It is SO CUTE. There is also, now, a fleet of bunnies. (...If you can have a fleet of three.) Sweetness ahoy!
...ETA, already:
5) ....Re: 2: I also need to make more of the cartoons. They have started turning up places on campus without us having put them there, after all of three hours. ::....so puffed up, right now:: Granted, they were given to people who wanted to also engage in sign-putting-up, and it is certainly they who have arranged it? But Chris just walked into the bathroom and saw one there. That's... well, awesome, frankly.
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