won't you come see me, Queen Jane?

Time for an entry... a strange weekend. Got a lot done, but didn't practice. I think I decided that my voice and brain needed a break so that I could be more productive this week. I accomplished a lot else, though, including bleaching my bathroom and kitchen and corduroys and sweatshirt (the last two accidentally). I also bought some hot black gloves to go with my recital dress. Going to The Icing definitely brought back some bizarre childhood memories. Sometimes I'm amazed at what freaks teenagers are. I remember when I was 14, being absolutely mortified because I was walking around New Orleans with my family, and my father was carrying, of all horrifying things, a bright red umbrella!!!! Yeah, I'm sure you would have run and hid, too.

Tonight I made a really great garlic/ginger sauce to go with some tofu and broccoli. In my nice clean kitchen. I am thinking about virtually nothing but next weekend. It is going to be beautiful. My family is arriving on Friday afternoon, and we have dinner reservations at Casablanca- that's this decadent moroccan restaurant which serves you a seven-course meal. And has bellydancing. Saturday, I think we're going to take care of my reception food, and odds and ends, and my recital is at 8 that night... Afterwards, I'm having a celebration bei meiner Wohnung, mit vielem Sekt und andere Alkohol. Sunday will also include many good times with my folks. So I only have to get through this week... which may or may not seem indefinite.

Definitely more than alright.

A glorious Saturday morning... woke up at 7:30, made myself go back to sleep until 10. Went out last night with Mitche, danced at the East End, explored the bowels of Kirkbride at 2am, found the History TA offices... they're in something resembling a dungeon.

This weekend I have to do laundry, clean the bathroom, bleach our kitchen counter in a vain effort to get out some curry stains, check out music at the library, and go on a search for long black gloves. And of course practicepracticepracticepracticepractice.

Drinking tea now and listening to Cesar Franck. Ain't nobody keeping me down today.

hormones and imaginary conversations

Strange place... looking all around, many attractions, none strong enough to tempt me to go out of my way. The effect of young hormones combined with high standards? My dangly earrings appear to have lost one of their dangles. For every one conversation I have, there are about 10 imaginary ones. My music history listening is uploading strangely. Damn Dr. Peterson.

Embarassing confession?

I can't say I've ever been particularly proud to be an American. Not since I came into "my own consciousness," and certainly not since our grotesque overreaction to 9/11. (It's okay if you want to start calling your terrorist hotline now... though I'd appreciate it if you gave me a couple of weeks to renew my passport.) I have always found the general arrogance of this country to be pretty sickening and obnoxious. To people who know me, this is nothing new. In high school, there were a couple of kids who would ask me on a fairly regular basis if I was a communist, which I am most certainly not. Universal healthcare and a graduated tax system is about as far as I go into that camp. But I digress.

The business with these Danish cartoons has really frozen into relief for me just how FUCKING happy I am to live in the western world. I comprehend the cultural reason behind their boycotts and rioting. It's a matter of passion, and the western world disrespecting something their friends and relatives had died for. Is it wrong to be so passionate about something? My answer: when it causes you to kill innocent aid workers and attack foreign embassies, YES! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU??? I think there is something powerful in images and symbols that we can utilize to look at the world in a particularly different way, or to honour an ideal we cherish. I see a lot of symbolism in my life that reminds me constantly of the world's interconnectedness. But when symbolism obscures reason to the point that it becomes more important than lives, it loses its usefulness and becomes a catalyst of madness. I'm not restricting my criticism to the muslim extremists- there are so many people in the western world who act the same way about material things, flags, and oil.

So there are no innocents. I've always wondered whether it is better to live in an individualistic society in which materialism and affluence tend to obscure what is really important, or in a community-oriented society in which you are constantly reminded of certain values, and compelled to conform with them. I think that in the Eastern world, it must be nice to have a community backing you up, but I can't help feeling like that backing is really conditional on a certain kind of behavior, which is, in the end, an attempt to make order out of chaos. In the west, you might have to go up against some cultural norms in order to live with some semblance of values, but I can't help feeling that the struggle is worth the personal choice you get to make. There's something powerful in being able to say it's your own life. That doesn't accord you the right to disrespect others in their lives, but it does give you the power to explore the world on something resembling your own terms.

Semester overview

I think the semester is happening now. I have a fair amount of early afternoon time free, which is not really common for me. I also have an enormous amount of reading, which may or may not end up being accomplished, depending on how essential it looks. The overall feeling is that after five semesters, something is finally happening in my life. I was accepted into the AIMS program in Austria this summer (http://www.aimsgraz.com), and it looks like I'll probably be going. I also have my recital in March, along with three competitions (NATS, Delaware Young Artist Competition, Austrian-American Society). Amnesty is kicking in, too, with this letter-writing campaign... getting involved with other student organizations, and trying to look professional and organized. I haven't gotten too excited about Magic Flute yet, but it's a "bit" of a let-down anyway, lets be honest. From my French Art Song class, I'm getting some great ideas for my Senior Recital. I think that I want to do multiple settings of the same poem... It would be great if I could do that in two or three languages, but I want to be careful not to get too attatched to a theme too early. I think I'll do the three Griffes songs for my English set, though, and I'm still set on Polish as my 5th language. Deutsch ist ganz fantastisch, und ich erinnere mich schon viele, was ich vergisst hatte. I think I'll try to audit a conversation class next year, to keep things going until the "big move." I'm also learning to play the organ this semester. The class would be worth it, if only to have constant access to Bayard Sharp, but playing the organ is really an amazing feeling- all those pipes at my finger (and toe) tips. Something so complex... Spanish conductor Pablo Casals referred to the orchestra as the greatest instrument of all. I can only imagine what being in charge of a beast like that would be. Maybe I'll find out when I take my conducting class next year.

awesome/crappy weekend

Yesterday was one of those days in which everything goes right. Or almost everything. I woke up with my alarm at 8:00, to two messages from Chris saying that because of the imminent snowstorm, he didn't feel comfortable driving me to Temple. He could, however, take me to the Wilmington train station, and I arrived with about a minute to spare, just barely getting on the train. It was intense. When I arrived at Temple, I had several hours before my audition, and no one was at Mitten hall, where it was to be held, so I went to their music building and practiced. Their practice rooms are so much better than UD's... but the piano in mine was still awful. Guess it's a common affliction. I was really prepared for the audition, though... with a spiffy resume, optional headshot, two changes of clothes, and a backup pair of hose. Their opera rehearsal room was a really cool room with a big stage. There was not much else on that floor, and the elevator doors kept opening for no reason. I sang "Song to the Moon," and the man auditioning me asked me to sing "Mi chiamano Mimi," and "Ach, ich fuhls." I felt like I sang really well, though not flawlessly, of course. He said there was no question of my being accepted, but I wouldn't hear about scholarships until April. I was fairly overwhelmed. I do have connections to the AIMS people- my auditioner knows Dr. DeMent, and knows of Dr. Foster. So it could have been that, or I could have actually really impressed the guy. Overall, it's nice to have something other than rejection once in a while. I caught the train back to Wilmington, and Sam picked me up at the station... While I was waiting for her, it was snowing a lot, and this disgusting lady-cop kicked these homeless men out. They weren't doing anything wrong- just trying to get out of the cold. It made me sick to look at it.

This morning, all of Newark was covered in several inches of fresh snow- it was absolutely gorgeous. I left fairly early to hang out with Nicole, whose asshole boyfriend had just broken up with her. Afterwards, I left to sit and study at Central Perk, and was completely entertained by their awesome middle-eastern music. Then I walked to Pathmark to buy cilantro and a chile and pecorino romano... at that point I discovered that I didn't have my keys wiht me. I called Holly, and sure enough, she was in Philly, not coming back until tomorrow. I found a ladder in the basement of the music building, and carried it all the way back to my apartment, propped it up against the back wall, and climbed up it. At the top, I realized that I would not be able to reach my kitchen window... and then my cellphone rung. It was Jason, saying that he doesn't have a ladder to lend. Thanks. I climbed down cautiously. Tried the emergency numbers for my apartment, and the office. No one. Left messages, and haven't been called back. I'm mostly upset because all of my books are there, and I can't do work which really needs doing tonight. Also, my feet and the bottoms of my jeans are wet from tramping around in the snow. And last of all, I just want to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea by myself..., which I would be able to do, otherwise, as Holly is gone. So if you have access to a long long ladder, and live in the Newark Area, give me a buzz.

doin' a line of burritoooo

The burrito place on main street was giving out free burritos today. Not sure how they are planning to make money on this one, but I decided to head on by to see if I couldn't get one for myself, as I am so starved of mexican food (especially free mexican food). When i got there, though, I was accosted by a chip made out of foam and his hooligan friends who were bouncing around, and right behind them was a line whose end I could not see. It made me think about bread lines in Soviet Russia, and how they always try to convince you that these things are how it's supposed to be. Then the whole scene seemed incredibly pathetic and kind of sinister. So I went to one of those campus food stands and bought a sandwich and apple for $4.75, neither of which were that good. But I kept my dignity intact, I think. That is, until I stole a bag of soy crisps from Smith, because I felt ripped off by their $1 bad apple and $3.75 mediocre sandwich. Remind me never to buy premade smith-food again.

I don't know what I've been told....

So my darling friend Matt, who has the blog: Hismattness, recently asked a question about fucking vampire pussy, and whether or not it would be cold, which I thought deserved to be addressed in my own blog, as it is clearly a very important question.

I always thought it was the Eskimo pussy which was mighty cold.

But maybe that's just me. And my pop-culture references. And my political incorrectness. Because they are, of course, Inuit. Fucking a.

famous blue raincoat

I walked home alone tonight. Through Newark, Delaware. For about the 500th time. At 1:30am. And once again, I escaped being raped. It seriously bothers me how there is this paralyzing mass hysteria which causes people (especially women) to feel unsafe when alone at night. Are you more safe at a frat party? I have been criticized many times for my tendency to walk alone in the early hours of the morning through crime-ridden Newark, DE... but I would never give it up. I love stopping in my strides and looking up at the sky, partially covered with clouds, enjoying the stars. And the sillhouettes of the trees. There's this instance of silence and peace, which you cannot experience when with another person.

I've had people say, "Well, at least carry mace." But they don't understand that this is a capitulation to fear. And when you are carrying mace, there is a voice in the back of your head asking if you will have to use it. I don't want that standing in between me and my life. We live in a society that is becoming increasingly concerned with the concept of Security, placing it above all other values. To me, the silence which comes from walking alone cannot be found anywhere else. And the power which comes from defying a culture of fear is worth the off-chance that those fears might be justified. And that is why I walk alone.

extraordinary machine

I had the best practice session in a long time today. I sang through my entire recital programme, as well as the 4 arias + song of my choice for AIMS. It was so comforting. I can do this. And my recital is going to be killer. Great practice sessions are so great for putting life in perspective: These are the things which are important, and these are the things which are blips in the chaos. This is everpresent in my life, and this is not worth worrying over, because I can't control it, anyway. People will come and go (a few will hopefully stick around), but I will always live with myself and my experiences and my music. My life is Fucking Spectacular.

For Muhammad's Sake!

So I'm trying to decide how I feel about this whole Danish cartoon row (as BBC calls it)... I haven't been able to locate a copy of the disputed cartoon, but from the descriptions, it does sound like a cheap shot, and fairly tasteless. That said, I think that the response by the arab community is pretty large, compared to the offense. Though perhaps their anger is not so much at that particular offense, but how the western world views Islam. It just seems to me that they ought to have these protests and effigy burnings and boycotts because of the headscarf/ burqa bans, not because of some stupid cartoons. Those are legal actions which affect their lives, are discriminatory and do represent a genuine and prevalent racism. A political cartoon doesn't force women to dress in a way that they are not comfortable- it doesn't take away their right to express their religion through their form of dress. For christ's sake- that's the real outrage!