Virtual Paper

Mata Avispas Y Avispones

Time's been awastin. There's been a large amount of that time stuff between my last entry and this one. No really good reasons for that, just sheer laziness I guess. Although, laziness implies that I've been lying around doing nothing for the past couple of weeks, and that's so not true. In fact, in the past six days, A Great Fall has had three shows! Plus, Claire as a solo artist practiced with the Edgewood Symphony Orchestra on Tuesday, which, despite preconceptions, was alright and even bordering on fun. The music was okay and the conductor was pretty cool, but unfortunately I got put next to that girl. Well, that lady more like.

Any of my fellow musicians would understand. There's always one in every performing group. One who looks up and nods after every single thing the conductor says, and even sometimes mutters "Mmmm" or "Mmm-hmm!" He or she is quick to criticize any other member of the group, and also quick to check his/her instrument when he/she plays a wrong note... as if the instrument must have made the mistake.

This lady... the first oboist, in fact, was a piece of work. For one thing, she wasn't that great. I don't mean to be a big diva (I do that enough with A Great Fall) but I played way better than she does when I was in school. If I got my chops back I could blow her out of the water (no pun intended.) She was constantly muttering things... "Ew" or "ugh!" when anyone played the slightest bit flat on a single note.

She also took it upon herself to "shush" the entire orchestra whenever the conductor stopped mid-piece, to alert everyone else that we were stopping. Obviously this woman didn't understand that her fellow musicians are not a bunch of morons, and that we might have musical backgrounds too. Some of us might even have (gasp!) more experience or (double gasp!) degrees in music! There are people in the world who do know when to stop playing without being shushed by the brown noser with the 234 oboe accessories that she doesn't need.

She even had the nerve (and my fellow musicians will back me up on the audacity it takes for someone to do this) to reach onto my stand, pick up my pencil, and make a style comment on my music!! She felt I didn't play a note the way it should be played, so even rather than whisper, "That should be staccatto" or whatever, she TOOK MY PENCIL AND WROTE IT ON MY MUSIC! ON MY STAND! Who does that! I didn't even know this woman! Granted, it's considered okay to speak or whisper comments to your cohorts about style issues... but you just don't go writing shit on their music, especially shit that the conductor didn't specify. Bitch. Quite honestly I plan to get my oboein' muscles back in gear so I can show this whole joint who's the boss and who belongs in first chair. Yeah, that's right.

Anyway, onto Great Fall news. We did two shows this past weekend, both of which went well. We played rather poorly at the Beaver County Rock Off, yet somehow managed to come away with 2nd place! Maybe it was because we got brownie points. Apparently the cook for the evening didn't show, and in their state of panic, they asked if anyone could cook. John, being a cook at Juliano's, stepped up to the plate and cooked burgers all night for the audience before hopping on stage to rock out with us. It was quite amusing actually, and I believe he made twelve bucks for it.

The show the following night at The Rex rocked. A good sized crowd helped to keep our energy up, and John's solos were kick-ass. Things are going really well for us. When we started out, our goal was to get a show maybe... and now we've had several and made a total of $35 (which isn't a lot, but it beats paying for shows like we used to). I guess it's time to raise the bar. Our new sights are on getting signed to a label. So... that's the new hope.

Last night we did a show at the Garfield Artworks which was weird. The headliner band decided they didn't want to play last, so they shoved us to the end instead, and when they were done playing, everyone left. It sucked. We didnt' start our set til about 10:30 pm and there were literally 6 people listening, and it just wasn't worth the effort. Oh well, win some, lose some.

That's why EVERYONE NEEDS TO COME AND SEE US A WEEK FROM FRIDAY AT MR. SMALLS THEATER! It'll be awesome.

There's a cardboard box at the bottom of the stairs in my house, and my cat has decided to stalk people from it. It's very intimidating.

Jason just called and asked me if I want to go to 80's night. I might just do it, even though I'm really freakin' tired. Oh well, we'll see.

That's about it for now. More exciting entries later I promise.

And now I've got that damn "I'm coming up" song stuck in my head.

It took a week, but it's finally official. I'm inspired. They've beat it into our skulls this whole week that the truth is what comes across the best, and that we really need to get in touch with what we believe in our souls in order to produce amazing writing. Now, to my own credit, and I do believe credit is due, I've been able to entertain a small number of people with my writing, and I hope to continue to do so. However! Humor only goes so far. The best books/essays/etc. have substance to them, whereas, so far, my humor with substance can be found only in Madam Malarky, a woman I abandoned over a year ago. This is why I've decided that it's time to come clean. I need to expose the world to some universal truths. I need to really understand my own soul before I can get everyone else to buy my words. I like to think that I've kept the things that drill my guts. I like to think the world hasn't heard all of that yet. I know there have been nights with the boys or at Sarah's in which I had too many beers and spilled a real feeling or two, but in those contexts it just creates uncertainty and an awkward looming fart above all our heads. In writing, people can read by themselves the real issues that I've got that are performing Chinese Water Torture on my brain. Changing the context corrects the faults.

I figure... I'm just starting out. I need to start small. Before I can delve into the trenches of the Lagerbusch story (which I wouldn't even tackle with my shrink when I had one), so in this preliminary entry, I'm going to make the small confessions that are holding up the dam. The ones that I gotta jump over to get to the good dirt. These are all the stupid little things that really bother me but that I try to ignore. I figure, trying to ignore them is the worst part. If I come clean, and fess up to them, I don't have to ignore them anymore. (This sounds like a simple concept, but it's harder than one might think.) So that's half the battle. I think when I remove the stones, the dam will let loose, and some really great aquatic thoughts will spring forth. It's just that, I finally understand that the real brutal truth is what's best, and that you have to address that before you can really do yourself justice.

So...

Here goes nothin.

1. I'm obsessed with things that are (or are not) beneath my fingernails. When my hands aren't occupied with something else, I'm scraping the imaginary dirt out from beneath my nails. I know there's no dirt there. I'm scraping at molecules. I know they're molecules. I know when I do it. I know it's pointless, and I know that people with OCD do things like that. I also know that I do not have OCD. I know this because people do weird things, and that doesn't make them obsessive compulsive. I've been trying to stop for some time now, but it's not really working. I get hope from the fact that I've had a few of these quirks in the past. For one, I used to put one strand of hair in my mouth and twirl it around my tongue until it got knotted into a ball. I did this for no reason. Once I made the conscious effort to stop, it was only a matter of time before I could. It gives me hope for the nail molecules.

2. I am far too afraid of dying young. I don't need a shrink to tell me why. And really, there are a couple good reasons why I would feel this way. There are also a couple good reasons why I should put the fears to rest. There are also a couple good reasons why this is very hard to do. Obviously, my father died relatively young. I haven't heard from Deb in a long time, and I am very afraid on the inside that she is dead too. She is also quite young. My mother has a life-threatening illness, and she herself is very young. The fear of death at a young age goes beyond this, however. For one thing, my mother watches crime shows nonstop. Every day, in the comfort of my own living room, I hear of at least three twenty-something women who are raped and murdered somewhere in the country. After that I hear my mother and grandmother reiterate for the millionth time that I should always lock my car, never park next to vans, don't get gas after dark, don't talk to men, don't eat candy from strangers, don't eat candy from anyone, don't cross the street without an on-star navigational device, and don't eat the skin of the eggplant. All of these lead to instant rape and death. Actually, slow painful rape and slower more painful death. I'm also afraid to die young because, hello! It happens. It's sad, it's awful, but it happens. It's sad and awful that someone would die and his landlord robs the family, but it happens. And if that, can happen, what else can happen? Lots of things. I really could be raped and murdered. The worst part is that I've seen the toll that repeated tragedies have taken on my family, namely my mother and grandmother. The only thing I can think of that would break them completely would be if Paige or I died. That is my number one fear. I don't even care that I'd be dead as much as I would care what would happen to the most amazing and inspirational family I've ever seen. (For those of you that are dense, that means my family.) My mother and Grandmother don't deserve a bee sting, let alone one more tragedy. They've seen enough. It's time to stop.

3. I judge. I judge Middle Eastern people. I try not to. When I see them out, I look away. I don't make eye contact. I used to dread waiting on them when I worked in public venues. Logic would tell me not to, but it was no use. I'm working on it. I'm going to make an honest effort to stop. I don't know how that's going to work out.

4. If you were to cut open any part of my body, you would find nothing but bladder. I have no stomach, no liver, no spleen. I have no bones and no muscles. My body is controlled by one giant bladder that does everything. I can drink water, juice, coffee, alcohol, you name it. Doesn't matter. My body can handle it. It can store it probably for days. This may seem like a really cool quality to have, but lemmie tell ya. It's not. There are repurcussions. And here comes the confession: I pee for a very long time. I can store so much liquid in my body, that when I pee, it takes forever. I'm smiling right now at my computer, because I realize how funny this is, but it really, in all brutal honesty, freaks me out. I feel like I've been created with a freakish body, and that's a scary thought for any woman. Which leads me to another good confession I didn't think of until now.

5. This one's really hard, because women hate you for this.
I love my body. I know there are better bodies out there. However, I love The Thunderbolt at Kennywood. Are there better roller coasters out there? Sure! But The Thunderbolt is a great one, and not only that, but I have a deep emotional investment in it. I certainly hope I have a deep emotional investment in my own body. After all, I couldn't have survived without it for 23 years. I love it. It's white, sure, but it's welcoming. It's got soft spots. It is soft spots. The soft spots aren't rubbery, they're soft. My body has a really cool shape. It's not like everyone's, so it's hard to find clothes for, but it's pleasant to look at and it has personality. I've got junk in the trunk. It's neat junk. It's interesting junk. It's 8-tracks and handblown glass. It's stuff I could do without, but I love just the same. My hair is part of my body. It's long. My mother says it's too long. I disagree. the last inch or so of my hair has probably been around for a good 3 years. It was at the very top of my head then, just coming out of my scalp. But it was with me when Dodie and I stood in the living room of 3810 Lewis apt #3, watching the World Trade Center deteriorate in stages, and we wondered what was going on. The ends of my hair were the roots of my hair at my father's memorial service and at his apartment when we realized what was missing from the walls. I can't get rid of it yet. Maybe someday.

5.1 I'm giving this a decimal because it's related to #5. I love my body... naked. It's even worse than loving one's body. I love my body naked. It's got cottage cheesy spots, but they're well hidden. It's the weird thigh parts that nobody really looks at. The best part is, nobody really looks at them because they're too busy looking at my waist, which kicks ass. It's all about how the body's put together. I got what I want.

6. I'm scared as all hell. The only things I enjoy in life are things that don't make money. I know my friends and relatives think I've given up on music. It's a shame. I haven't given up on music. I see music as one of the most sublime pleasures a person can experience. Creating music is even better than listening to it. I will never turn my back on my oboe or my overall musicianship. I'm just in a panic, that's all. The oboe is by far the most beautiful instrument there is. I still feel that way. I realized it even more this week, when in all these writing classes, I found myself referencing Holly, Dr. Inkster, various composers, various stories involving my career as a musician, and my overall feeling towards the importance of music in the world. There is truly nothing finer than music, and I still believe that. I'm giving it a break because it's come to a dead end for me. What's an oboist to do? I don't want to teach, and performance only pays when you're in a major symphony. You can only be in a major symphony if you've slept with someone or can pay someone off. I can't do that. I don't want to do that. I'm doing writing because I love writing as well, and am hoping I can find a way to earn a living with it. I will never betray music. It's my first love. I'll always find ways to integrate it into my life. I will hopefully find a way to make it my life's work. However, in the meantime, I need to figure out a backup plan, and even other ways to support myself. That's what this is all about. In fact, I'm going to a rehearsal with the Edgewood Symphony on August 16. I'm still playing, and it bugs me when people look sad when they ask me about my music. They seem betrayed, as though I abandoned an art of theirs. Really, I didn't abandon anything. And even if I did, I abandoned my own art, and not the art of anyone around me. It took a long time for me to come to terms with the fact that I need to be my own self now, but it's really true. It's a struggle.

7. When I was writing the above paragraph, something sparked # 7, but now I don't remember what it is. I think it has something to do with being afraid of my career. All my life I've tried so hard to be a career woman, because I think it's such an admirable position, and I believe firmly in that position. I want to have it all, and I believe I can have it all. I can have a successful career and a successful family. I'm scared to death that I'm taking the wrong steps. It's a constant fear for both aspects of life. For the career, I'm constantly afraid I picked the wrong school, the wrong professors, the wrong courses, the wrong major. For the successful family, the fears should be obvious. I'm afraid my relationship will end, leaving me stranded when I'm too old to pick up the broken pieces. Even worse, I'm afraid I'm infertile. I've never tried to have kids, so what happens if I can't? There's no way to know whether or not I can at this stage in the game. This all ties into fear #2. I combine these two fears into one: That I secretly have ovarian cancer or uterine cancer... cervical cancer, breast cancer, the possibilities are endless. So many ways to die young. So many ways to become infertile. I'm so very afraid.

8. I get jealous. In all honesty, it really is rare. Jealousy is weird. I almost never get jealous, but boy, when I do, it's like a charley horse in the middle of a good night's sleep. I'm jealous of the other writers here. I like to think I know where I stand. I know whom I'm up against in the competitive world. I know I had the oboe market nailed. (In Erie, anyway... Pittsburgh is much harder.) In writing? I've got a lot to learn. I'm writing this whole blog entry because I'm jealous. I'm jealous of the amazing stories the other writers have. Mostly they're all true. Rachel's mother and twin sister died at birth. Imagine that scenario. It's heart-wrenching (sorry to use a cliche.) But she's so funny, and she's so honest. And she writes about it as though it's nothing. I strive to be that way. Fortunately, I think that because I'm 23, I have time to develop that. And when I do, I can be that great. Almost everyone here is in their 30's. I'm nowhere near the best writer here. In fact, I'd say I'm in the bottom 25%. However, I got here. I made it into this program. The people here are very good to me. They listen to my work, and are very encouraging. I'm jealous of them. Many have had work published. They all have words of advice, but nobody talks down to me. I bet when they were 23, they were much like me. I have to give myself credit, and I have to give myself a chance. Writing is a somewhat new realm for me. It won't be easy to be great, but it wasn't easy to be good at music either.

I have more confessions, but there are some I'm not willing to tackle yet. I think that comes with time. For now, I feel a lot better. I feel that if nothing else, I've identified the correct direction, even if I haven't taken that first step. I debated putting this entry in the Creative Writing blog, but it's a fine line. I decided it's a thought more than a story or description. It belongs here. the repurcussions of it belong in the Creative Writing portion. Time to change everything.

That I burned your house down

Tonight's quote is brought to you by a poet we heard tonight and whom I absolutely loved! Now lemmie tell ya, I am not a poetry fan. But this dude... this dude had it goin' on. I'm not even going to say any more about it because I can't do him justice. You just had to hear him.

This is going to be a short entry. I just wanted to make the general announcement that I have a new blog. Its only purpose is to be an outlet for my creative/practical writing endeavors. The link is in my profile. I'd give you the URL here but I forget what it is and I'm too lazy to check.

Things here at WestConn have been ridiculous. There's a small group of us that has formed as the sort of underground voice of the school. Ron, Mave, Kirstin, Charles, Anne and I are the core of it, but we've branched out on occasion. It all started the first night when we were the only ones who were willing to heist beer from the "cultural event" that night. (It pays to have a large purse.) And so that night we drank in a little cluster, and as they are all older, they told "college days" stories and and we had a grand time. At the end of the night, we agreed to do it again the following evening, and the tradition has continued all week. Now, the beauty of all of this is that none of us would have ever spoken to each other had it not been for this turn of events. We come from all different walks of life and none of us would have ever thought to speak to the others. Before I get into the breakdown, let me alert you to the fact that most of these people are older, and although they have English degrees, they found them to be useless and are now doing other things with their time. And now here comes the breakdown:

Ron: Funny guy. Very cool. Originally referred to as "Bald Ron" for obvious reasons. (He was born with a form of Allopecia (sp?) and has never had hair.) He is 32 I think. Married, no kids. Runs a marina.
(Side note: We discussed how before we knew each other's names, we sorta designated our own descriptive names for everyone in the program, so when we discussed each other we could specify about whom we were talking. Ron was "Bald Ron" for example.)

Mave: ("Organic Farmer Mave") Mave is, obviously, an organic farmer. She's done it for about a year. She is married but has no kids, and she's very into preaching to others that marriage is no fairy tale. (Fine by me.) She looks kinda like Gwynneth Paltrow and wrote a really cool story about some very crazy people. I believe she's 29 but I'm not sure.

Kirstin: ("Quiet Teacher Kirstin") The very first person I met here, as she is my roommate. (Well, suitemate I guess.) She is the conservative of the group. There are many former teachers here who left because the education system is FUBAR, and she's one of the few who defends it. I give her credit. She's dealt with a lot of criticism here. She's really cool, and despite being conservative, can toss back a few like a champ. She's 30, married, and has 2 kids.

Charles: (On-Star Charles Who Looks Like His Name Should Be Richard) Charles hails from Hawaii. He grew up in Georgia, and lived there until fairly recently when he decided on a whim that he'd rather live in Hawaii. So that's what he did. It's funny because he wears Hawaiian print shirts and has a very Hawaiian vibe, yet speaks with a Georgia drawl. He's got a very dry sense of humor and is freakin' hysterical. He's 56, married, and has kids.

Anne: (Corporate Anne) Anne was different from the beginning. She has a "strictly business" aura and she dresses like a stock broker. She looks empowered all the time. She's married and has kids, and she says she's in her 40's. She has climbed to just about the top of the corporate ladder, and does writing in that field, but is looking to expand her creative horizons. She is constantly running out of the room to take conference calls and is always doing business like activities. She's written a fictional story about a woman who rises to the top of her company by sleeping around. It's actually quite good.

So anyway, there are lots of tales about our adventures, but I REALLY need to sleep. This is taking a toll on me.

This is "Touche" signing off.