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Sep. 11th, 2005


(no subject)

Okay, so you're all in for torture a treat. I just, now, hardly five minutes ago, recorded some of my beautiful music. Keep in mind that I wasn't trying to terribly hard. Click on the links, they're all uploaded to you send it. The recording quality is crap. Many apologies.

Arioso - Bach

The arioso, is, along with the fiocco, what I'm working on now. Why is the arioso up here the fiocco MIA? Probably because my fiocco sucks, a lot. Not that this is a finished product. It's slow, but be warned, I didn't quite hit the high A in tune, your ears might just bleed from it.

Dance of the Princess - Stravinsky

This is a really old piece, by that I mean the last time I truly worked on it was about two years ago. Just the same, it's pretty, this uber-dumbed-down excerpt from the Firebird. My intonation is a bit off and I sometimes forget (or add) an A-flat. Another pretty slow piece.

L'Agreable - Marais

Is the piece I've been working on before the arioso and fiocco. It's pretty slow, but I like the melody to it, and it reminds me of a certian character. Um, I suck at getting out of fifth position, just as a warning.

Le Basque - Marais

Oh, is this actually a fast piece? Le Basque was my companion piece to L'Agreable, and it's what I played for both my auditions, that I made. Here I rush and muddle some fingerings, which doesn't usually happen. What can I say? It's fairly late.

Concerto in G major; mvmt 1 - Telemann

Ah, the Telemann. Honestly, I think it's deteriorated since I last played it. More rushing, more inaccurate tempo, more sloppy fingers, and I fumble like hell in the last little arpeggio bit. It's also fast.

Colors of the Wind a la Pocahontas

Okay, if you don't know this song, you well, obviously don't get out much. Rhytmic inaccuracy and I miss a few notes. Other than that it came out pretty well. Made good use of the book Gina set me, played this mainly for Kelli (shame on you!)

Comments/critique appreciated.

(no subject)

First in-car today. My instructor was stupid, and couldn’t give instructions very well. What’re the prerequisites for being an instructor anyway?

Imagine: “Driving instructors wanted. Must be white trash. Must know how to drive a car. Must be a bitch (if female) or an ass (if male). If you are beyond somewhat literate or possess a degree higher than one from a high school you are overqualified.”

Apparently I’m completely awesome at maneuverability and completely sucky at changing lanes. Apparently, also, I am challenged at telling my right from my left. Gee, I didn’t know that.

…and guess what? (hint: it’s exciting!)

(pause here)

Homecoming is coming up!

(disclaimer: I understand that sarcasm does not transfer well to typed words, however, I would hope that would get the point across. If not: that was sarcasm, fools.)

Okay, so I might come off as being “rebellious” or “sullen” or some kind of poseur “punk” whatever. No one would dare think that someone like me, who’s very none-of-the-above, would ever have such vehement dislike of “school spirit.” Honors students are supposed to be, if not enthusiastic, at least accepting of school spirit.

Well…no. Of, if you’d prefer it in more “ghetto” terms, fuck that shit, yo.

Show pride in a school that neglects anything that doesn’t involve tossing around some sort of ball. Show pride in a building filled with ignorant trash. Show pride in a completely inept administration system. Show pride in a school that ignores whatever it doesn’t like. Show pride in…

Wait, what am I showing pride in?

It’s all of a giant knot of bitterness crammed in my over-used brain. Being stuck in a place with people that I’ve known all my life that I’m still not particularly close to drives me nuts. Well, lots of things drive me nuts. My biggest desire in the world is to be self-sufficient and away from everyone I know. Might be weird, but I so often feel so very uncomfortable around everyone.

Sep. 8th, 2005


(no subject)

Okay, so I felt like expanding where I usually write and try something a little bit different, thus I took a verse out of Alfred Noyes' The Highwayman and wrote it in prose.

Verse VICollapse )

And now my writing concerning it. Warnings? Um, it's romance-ish, overly-descriptive and the word "hell" is used (in proper context) at the end. I think everyone can handle it.

The Highwayman DrabbleCollapse )

So, the questions is, do I continute with the prose thing? Or should I stop while I'm on top of things? (the rest of the poem, if you'd like to read it, can be found here). Opinions, beta-reading, criticism welcome, as per usual.

random spamCollapse )

Sep. 7th, 2005


(no subject)

Hey dumbshits, when someone asks you how you are, you in turn ask how they are, even if you don’t give a flying fuck. It’s common courtesy, and sometimes the people you’re talking to really need someone to give a damn.

typical, overly emotional teenager rantCollapse )

Other news: my orchestra tape wasn’t even half-assed. It was like…1/4 assed.

I’m currently drawing fan art for Oedipus Rex. C’mon now, only the truly cool can draw fan art for Oedipus Rex. Jocasta is fun to draw, but Creon’s hair is giving me a bit of trouble. Yes, I am serious. Oh boy am I ever serious. I should draw Teiresias too, just because generic blind seers are fun as hell (concerning the generic part, see Julius Caesar. Thank you for ripping Sophocles off, Shakespeare).

I’ve been writing a lot, but I’m kind of feeling spiteful and rather lacking in my desire to let people read it. I’ll think about it, I guess.

…and okay, look, I hate to be needy, but would it kill you to leave a comment just to show you care?

Sep. 4th, 2005


(no subject)

I was going to write something profound here, but the thought escaped me just as this page was loading. Usually when I update this I have at least something to say, unfortunately, I don’t have anything to say, and I don’t have any art to stick in here in form of appeasement.

So, Kelli spent the night last night, which was great fun, as usual. I’d love to ramble about it, but I really don’t think that’d serve much of a purpose. Anyways, review of the movie we saw below.

Red EyeCollapse )

So, list of awesome stuff to look forward to in the upcoming year:

- The Corpse Bride
- Viola day at Bowling Green
- The Dresden Dolls concert
- The Rocky Horror Show play
- David Sedaris coming to Ohio
- Rasputina concert (if mom will let me skip orchestra)
- Getting my driver’s license
- Bach Cello Suites <3
- My self-imposed reading list
- Various other movies

Needless to say, I’m pretty excited about life, as in, very. I'm also thinking of changing my layout as it's a bit busy and a bit outdated and honestly I have nothing at all better to do.

Oh yeah, I got my China pictures/room cleaning pictures/Flogging Molly concert pictures developed, thus I shall post them soon, when I feel like scanning them in.

Aug. 27th, 2005


(no subject)

Beginning school again always makes me think about what I want to do, and I’ve really come to the conclusion that if I could choose whatever profession I wanted it’d be one in criminal psychology. I passionately want to work with people so messed up in the head they commit heinous crimes. I would burn to get a job like that.

I also kind of want to get my PhD, because I am an extreme dork and love to learn. What you would do with a PhD in criminal psychology is beyond me, but it sounds pretty gosh darn fun.

Ha, yes, I did just say “gosh darn.”

I got the bi-monthly (or whatever) Shar music catalog. Not many juniors in high school can claim they spend hours drooling over metronomes, violin bows (which I don’t even play), and all other factors of musical dorkship. I can. I am now lusting, yes, you read me right, lusting for the Bach Cello Suites.

Anyway, finished driver’s ed, passed the test, that’s done and out of the way. I’m kind of looking forward to school, where I no longer have to ride the bus. I’m addicted to CSI now, along with many other things. I think I’m going to be back to my Ted Bundy book pretty soon, which’ll be fun and once again instill in me a fear of hitchhiking and men with their arms in casts. Also, in this giant paragraph of random, I had an idea for my own original story, maybe I'll start churning out some concept sketches soon and be all special like.

Aug. 25th, 2005


(no subject)

Normally I’d be unloading my emotional instability on to people whom I trust at least won’t laugh in my face, though I’m sure those select few are sniggering over their keyboards as I ramble about certain day-to-day occurrences. However, as misery absolutely adores company, I have decided to enlighten you all to my sorrows, or at the very least give you the option of enlightenment (see LJ cut at the bottom).

In not-so-enlightening (I use that word loosely and with much sarcasm) news I have had Idioteque by Radiohead stuck in my head for the past who knows how many days. While that’s not necessarily a bad thing, having “Who's in a bunker/Who's in a bunker/Women and children first/And the children first /And the children…etc” repeating incessantly in one’s head can wear on one’s nerves eventually, especially because I have since discovered it’s impossible to sing along with a Radiohead song. That in itself is a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I cannot brutally rape a song I love, a curse in that I cannot get this song I love out of my head.

The sad thing is that it is entirely possible to write a paragraph about a song stuck in your head, as I have just proven with the above.

So, I’m learning how to drive. What have I learned in Driver’s Ed so far? Not much. Drinking is bad, especially when you’re driving. Wearing your seatbelt can really save your life. Whenever somebody dies a horrible, painful death in a driving movie they dye the screen a light shade of pink, to prove that that person has indeed died a horrible, painful death, even though it’s quite clear that they are (aside from their magic, invisible, and fatal injuries) otherwise uninjured. We have, Kelli and I, taken to calling this “blood vision,” even though it would be more correct to call it “rose vision.” Note, though, that “rose vision” lacks the sense of imminent DOOM that “blood vision” possesses, thus we shall pass over the nit-picky details and still call it “blood vision.” Yesterday’s four hours of rehashing what we already know or what is common sense learning invaluable lessons in driving an automobile was made more bearable by the fact that, much to my chagrin, I found one of the main characters in a “blood vision” movie to be at least moderately attractive.

Yes, you did read that correctly. They had a good-looking guy in a “blood vision” movie. Thus, in driver’s ed, we have also learned that it is the exceptionally pretty ones that live in fatal, multi-car accidents. Well, damn, I feel a bit cheated now.

I hope I am amusing you all with my amazingly witty prose about my life? Yes? Oh, never fear! There is more!

...the above statement is, in all actuality, almost a lie. I have fallen even deeper in love with the writings of David Sedaris, and I shall be quite distraught when I’m done with Me Talk Pretty One Day. Thought: I know I have just used italics improperly. It was done consciously, with reasoning behind it. The reasoning? Italics look much better than an underline. Shallow of me? Sure. Who isn’t shallow on occasion? Honestly, it’s better to be shallow with the aesthetics of writing than with the aesthetics of people, don’t you think?

With that deep, philosophical musing I leave you the following enlightening rant, in which I shall prove that I am a bad daughter, an even worse grandchild, and essentially going to a Hell that I don’t believe in.

Mother and MeCollapse )

And here I steal a word I learned to spell correctly from Gina: ciao.

Aug. 20th, 2005


(no subject)

Must I reiterate the fact that I am a dork every time I post? Why yes, I do believe I do. At any rate, before I being my utterly inane babble about me in general, I thought I should point out something.

There is nothing, and I repeat, nothing more frightening than a child that hates the world with, well, you know that kind of flat, emotionless hatred? It’s more disturbing than an adult, or a teenager, or anyone really. I think it has something to do with the fact that children epitomize purity and naiveté, or at any rate they should, to our minds, and there is nothing really more disturbing than seeing a mind that should be full of hope and joy filled with something more akin to jaded hatred. Of course, not all children are the happy-go-lucky, brandy-bunch-esque type, but still, I think an emotionless child is much more creepy than an emotionless adult. On that note, I torture bless you with a small (and very sloppy, as I did not work very hard on the art) comic of mine. No warnings, aside from sheer creepiness and the images are huge.

children are creepyCollapse )

As for the canoe trip, it was simply amazing. We were in the dork car, and it was good to see both cello Matt and Kish David. I discovered my competitive drive and got a really bad leg cramp. Take the bad with the good, hm?

Oh, and to further prove how clumsy I am, Thursday I slammed my foot in the car door. No, not my hand like most sensible people, but my foot. I’m talented, oh yes I am.

…and now, my life shall be swallowed once again by David Sedaris, Tetris, and my own, crazy imagination.

Aug. 19th, 2005


(no subject)

Important: Happy belated birthday to Gina, and happy early birthday to Toni. I suck with dates, don't hate me.

I’ve since come to absolutely deep conclusions on everything. When left alone with something really bothers you, if you mull over it for a long enough period of time things just start to, well, not bother you. Despite how stupid that sounds, it’s been proven with me at least.

I had a really interesting conversation with a stranger over MSN a while ago, and it really got me thinking about religion. Unfortunately, as I seem to think that I should divulge every intimate detail of my personal feelings via LJ, you shall now be forced to read them. Or rather, you shall be given the option of reading them, it’s really quite simple.

I think that the big issue with religion is that everyone’s looking for some universal truth that makes complete sense, and honestly I have to say that’s completely futile. To me, religion has the right to make absolutely no sense, so, when I say I’m Atheist I mean that no matter how hard I try I simply cannot believe in a higher power of any sort. That’s not to say that I think that a higher power is illogical or impossible, it’s just that whatever power of faith that allows others to believe in whatever why choose is something I lack. It’s always been that way, as long as I can remember. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I like to be in control of my life, maybe it’s something else. Whatever, I just felt like clarifying that.

This past week has been decent. One again, I’ve been doing a lot of chores, I’ve been able to hang out with quite a few people that I truly adore.

Phantom of Opera (with Deena, yay!) was one of the highlights of my year, I daresay, of course, this is coming from a girl who doesn’t really get out much. However, a short little thought on that movie/play/book/whatever. Everyone seems to hate Raoul, and I’m not sure I understand why. Sure, I like the Phantom as much as the next person, though I like him a lot less than the next crazed fangirl, but that’s really beside the point. It’s just that I’ve never seen a character that is so utterly disliked for no real reason. Okay, the guy’s the antagonist, but hell, if my girlfriend (or boyfriend whatever) was being: peeked at through one-way mirrors, suddenly was abducted in the middle of night by some mask-wearing creep who calls himself the angel of music, and grouped by the man that maybe her father, I’d be a little pissy too. Ah well, character preferences always depend on the people I suppose.

Jenny came over the other day and we proceeded to be very out-of-it. I guess that’s just the way life is. Nostalgia time was fun. Of course, it might help if I didn’t have a completely crackpot sleeping schedule.

Kelli spent the night last night, which resulted us finally going to sleep at seven in the morning. I am a horrible influence on sleeping habits methinks, however, we did have the mass exchange of pretty much every form of media available, because stuff like that is just crazy awesome.

Tomorrow is the canoe/picnic for orchestra, which will be fun if it’s even remotely organized, which I doubt.

On that note, I leave you with this: Merry Satanismis.

Aug. 13th, 2005


(no subject)

Today, for some unfathomable reason, I got up at eight in the morning to venture over to Rachel’s house to watch Dr. Strangelove. That movie is quite weird, yet highly enjoyable. I mean, I got up early and endured a post-hockey pseudo-game Rachel for it. It’s gotta be good.

I hate nursing homes. I don’t want to hear another word about granny not being able to “take a bowel movement in the bedpan” that’s all that I’ve heard about for the past…hm…how many? Six days or so. I’m done with it. Mom needs to realize that no matter what she does, it’s not going to help my grandmother. My needy, picky grandmother, who makes up excuses to keep us visiting in the nursing home when my mom is running on two hours of sleep and has been driving back and forth between the two houses for about five hours, and who hasn’t eaten anything all day. I know I may sound callous, but my gawd I don’t care if your back kinda, sorta hurts. It was your fault for being dumb enough to wreck your car in the first place.

The wedding was hell. I was attacked by a woman who thought I wanted company, who didn’t realize that I was perfectly comfortable curled up in my little corner reading about Ted Bundy and listening to Radiohead at full volume. Anyway, there was must intoxication, and honestly, a Catholic wedding takes three hours to reiterate a few things, those things being:

1. God gave us love
2. Love should be monogamous, and enduring
3. God really just rocks

No one take offense at that, I’m just reiterating what they took hours to say, and then, the reception that we “weren’t going to stay very long at” took five hours of my life away.

Anyway, tomorrow is Phantom of the Opera with Deena, and I am absolutely thrilled. That’s what kept me alive today, as pathetic as that sounds. That and the thought of sleep. Sleep’s good.

Grah, and guess who gets to play Bizet's Les Toreador's from the Carmen Suite yet again?

Me, goddamnit.

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