Disclaimer: the following is a rant. It may be somewhat forceful and heated. Please take into account that once I have ranted, all extreme emotions expressed will have been expended and no longer apply.
I am not a toy. Do not play with me.
I am not a puppet. You cannot manipulate me, or put words in my mouth.
I am not a renewable resource, so don't expect to use me twice. You won't get that chance.
I am not mass-produced, born of an assembly line. I am not an interchangeable part, meant to be replaced over time. I am not disposable. I can't be bought or sold. Don't try to stamp your name on me, as if I am yours. Don't try to label me, as if I'm that simple. Don't try to control me, as if I am a pawn in your game. And don't you dare put a price on me.
I am a person, not a product.
That said, you readers may disregard this post. It most likely wasn't written for you. But heed my warning...
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Is it just me...?
There are certain things that just bother me a little, unnerve me. I do not like gore, or crudeness. It's just not funny to me.
We recently killed the Romanov's in my history class. Right before that, we killed Rasputin. And there was a day in history class last year that I don't think I will ever forget: we killed William Jennings Bryan. It's not like I was particularly attached to any of these people. I knew very little about them until they showed up in our lectures.
Rasputin's death was just brutal. Cyanide, guns, and an icy river. We saw a picture of his body, after he had thawed out. It cycled the classroom as if it were a comic strip, trivial and entertaining.
The Romanov family was next. Our teacher had done her research. She knew that Alexandra had time to cross herself before the shooting began, and Nicholas died trying to protect his son. Moaning, piled bodies, acid and fire to eat away their bullet-riddled skin. Prior to their death, while they were being held captives, their hemophiliac son Alexi attempted to commit suicide. "What, did he trip himself?"
And poor William Jennings Bryan. He campaigned again and again for presidency, always losing, always on the same platform: free silver. We learned about the "Monkey Trial", his self-proclaimed expertise on the Bible, and how he was completely humiliated in court. And then he died a week after the trial. Our class cheered.
I know we're far removed from all these happenings, safe in our little classroom. But I don't understand. That was somebody's life. And our class cheered because he wouldn't show up on another test? Our class laughed because a fourteen-year-old boy tried to commit suicide?
And yes, it was absolutely ridiculous how long it took to actually kill Rasputin. Yes, we were tired of hearing about free silver. And yes, it all seems fantastic, like a story rather than someone's reality. But it was. It was someone's reality. And we find it so entertaining, so amusing. It just seems so sick to me. Our modern day Colosseum: history class.
And there are so many atrocities being committed in our world right now. People missing, kidnapped, brutally murdered. People tortured, abused, raped. I don't understand why there is such an industry for horror movies when there is so much real horror. It scares me that we can remove ourselves so far from it that it's funny. It scares me that we're that calloused.
We recently killed the Romanov's in my history class. Right before that, we killed Rasputin. And there was a day in history class last year that I don't think I will ever forget: we killed William Jennings Bryan. It's not like I was particularly attached to any of these people. I knew very little about them until they showed up in our lectures.
Rasputin's death was just brutal. Cyanide, guns, and an icy river. We saw a picture of his body, after he had thawed out. It cycled the classroom as if it were a comic strip, trivial and entertaining.
The Romanov family was next. Our teacher had done her research. She knew that Alexandra had time to cross herself before the shooting began, and Nicholas died trying to protect his son. Moaning, piled bodies, acid and fire to eat away their bullet-riddled skin. Prior to their death, while they were being held captives, their hemophiliac son Alexi attempted to commit suicide. "What, did he trip himself?"
And poor William Jennings Bryan. He campaigned again and again for presidency, always losing, always on the same platform: free silver. We learned about the "Monkey Trial", his self-proclaimed expertise on the Bible, and how he was completely humiliated in court. And then he died a week after the trial. Our class cheered.
I know we're far removed from all these happenings, safe in our little classroom. But I don't understand. That was somebody's life. And our class cheered because he wouldn't show up on another test? Our class laughed because a fourteen-year-old boy tried to commit suicide?
And yes, it was absolutely ridiculous how long it took to actually kill Rasputin. Yes, we were tired of hearing about free silver. And yes, it all seems fantastic, like a story rather than someone's reality. But it was. It was someone's reality. And we find it so entertaining, so amusing. It just seems so sick to me. Our modern day Colosseum: history class.
And there are so many atrocities being committed in our world right now. People missing, kidnapped, brutally murdered. People tortured, abused, raped. I don't understand why there is such an industry for horror movies when there is so much real horror. It scares me that we can remove ourselves so far from it that it's funny. It scares me that we're that calloused.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Tutti
There is something magical about singing with a choir.
Last week, Santa Maria and I traveled to Tampa for All-State choir. It was amazing. We sang in different choirs, so we were each able to see the other's concert.
I love the symbolism of it. Each individual is significant and valuable. They are responsible for knowing their own part. They must be able to stand on their own two feet. And yet...singing in a choir is so different from solo singing. There should never be any ego in a choir. You must listen and blend. Each voice part supports the others. Sopranos, Altos, Tenors, and Basses. You need all four parts or there is something hollow about the song, something empty and barren.
A week ago, I stood on the stage at Tampa Performing Arts Center and stared at a sound-proof wall that hid us. As it rose, the cheers of the crowd seeped under it to reach the ears of the other 314 vocalists who made up this choir. We saw the empty orchestra first, then the first rows of the audience that were filled with FVA members. A forest of faces on the floor. A balcony that hovered above them. Then another. And another. It was dizzying. The lights that focused on the stage created a haze then, and it seemed as if the ceiling disappeared into the clouds. Brick and red and faces and light. And music.
Life is like singing in a choir. Each person is vital. You have your notes, your entrances and exits. You have phrases that rise and fall. You play your role. You influence others, and they influence you. You have no control over anyone but yourself, and so you must let go of them. Watch the director. Watch the music. Breathe.
But you are only a part of something much greater, something that is absolutely beautiful.
While we were there, I asked for permission to doodle on the piano we were rehearsing with. It was a Steinway piano. If I ever have enough money to own a grand piano, it must be well-polished and as dark as night. My Black Beauty.
Last week, Santa Maria and I traveled to Tampa for All-State choir. It was amazing. We sang in different choirs, so we were each able to see the other's concert.
I love the symbolism of it. Each individual is significant and valuable. They are responsible for knowing their own part. They must be able to stand on their own two feet. And yet...singing in a choir is so different from solo singing. There should never be any ego in a choir. You must listen and blend. Each voice part supports the others. Sopranos, Altos, Tenors, and Basses. You need all four parts or there is something hollow about the song, something empty and barren.
A week ago, I stood on the stage at Tampa Performing Arts Center and stared at a sound-proof wall that hid us. As it rose, the cheers of the crowd seeped under it to reach the ears of the other 314 vocalists who made up this choir. We saw the empty orchestra first, then the first rows of the audience that were filled with FVA members. A forest of faces on the floor. A balcony that hovered above them. Then another. And another. It was dizzying. The lights that focused on the stage created a haze then, and it seemed as if the ceiling disappeared into the clouds. Brick and red and faces and light. And music.
Life is like singing in a choir. Each person is vital. You have your notes, your entrances and exits. You have phrases that rise and fall. You play your role. You influence others, and they influence you. You have no control over anyone but yourself, and so you must let go of them. Watch the director. Watch the music. Breathe.
But you are only a part of something much greater, something that is absolutely beautiful.
While we were there, I asked for permission to doodle on the piano we were rehearsing with. It was a Steinway piano. If I ever have enough money to own a grand piano, it must be well-polished and as dark as night. My Black Beauty.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The Plans of Mice and Men
And high school girls.
I received an email today from the music department of one of the other colleges I applied to, which also happens to be in my Top Two.
Dear Nina,
As the piano professor at the department of music ...blah blah blah...Unfortunately, due to the growth of the piano program and the music department in general, we are not accepting any piano minors at this time.
...
All the best and happy new year!
Assistant Professor of Piano
I think it's a sign. I am not meant to minor in piano. Maybe I'm just not meant to go away for college. It'd sure be a whole lot easier to stay here. I could go back to working at the grocery store, make a career out of that. I could get my associates degree at the community college here, maybe find a slot in management. The hours are brutal, but the pay is good, I hear.
I'm disappointed. I still want to pursue piano, to learn and progress and improve. I am not finished! So I still don't know what I'm going to do, but I guess nothing much has changed then, has it?
I received an email today from the music department of one of the other colleges I applied to, which also happens to be in my Top Two.
Dear Nina,
As the piano professor at the department of music ...blah blah blah...Unfortunately, due to the growth of the piano program and the music department in general, we are not accepting any piano minors at this time.
...
All the best and happy new year!
Assistant Professor of Piano
I think it's a sign. I am not meant to minor in piano. Maybe I'm just not meant to go away for college. It'd sure be a whole lot easier to stay here. I could go back to working at the grocery store, make a career out of that. I could get my associates degree at the community college here, maybe find a slot in management. The hours are brutal, but the pay is good, I hear.
I'm disappointed. I still want to pursue piano, to learn and progress and improve. I am not finished! So I still don't know what I'm going to do, but I guess nothing much has changed then, has it?
Monday, January 4, 2010
Divenire
So today I woke up at 5:45 and dragged myself out from under the four layers of blankets I was huddled beneath. I washed my face and fought with my hair to get it under control. I made some coffee and ate a little breakfast. I slapped some makeup on my face and gathered all my books and papers and walked out the door to go to the dreaded School.
The first five minutes or so were fun, greeting everyone I hadn't seen in two weeks or so. The day wasn't as bad as it could have been, not as monotonous or boring, stressful or draining as many others have been. So all in all, I count it as a successful day. I found the exhaustion set in once I sat down to do my homework. I battled through a little bit of it and then gave up. I wrote after that.
So this is the week where Maria and I will journey to Tampa for our grand All-State Choir adventure! I am very excited about the trip. We will miss three days of school, to sing. What better trade-off can you get? A long drive with one of your best friends, and music music music. I can't wait until the concerts, though. We are singing in separate choirs and so, if all goes well, I should be able to see her concert and she mine.
Speaking of music, I have a confession to make. I am absolutely mortified and appalled at my own lack of preparation, my failure to execute, my oversight. I think I have settled on a major (English) but for a while now, I've also been saying I would like to minor in music performance on the piano. Well, I missed the music department's deadline to apply and schedule an audition at one of my top colleges. It was December 31. And I feel like such a fool because I didn't even check when the date was until I got back from my New Years trip. As Maria and my mother pointed out, it isn't the end of the world because I don't necessarily have to minor my first year. I can always apply second semester or jump in the next year. I don't have to minor in anything at all. I don't even know which college I want to go to! (By the way, the other two choices have upcoming deadlines this month and next month. This one college is just much more demanding). I still feel awful.
I'm really nervous about auditions, actually. I will be asked to play all major and minor scales, two octaves, hands together. I can easily do two octaves hands together on most of the major scales, but I really need to polish quite a few of them, and my minor scales are atrocious. I don't like minor scales. It thrills me to play in minor keys, but I do not like the scales. I also have to sight-read, which is not something I have ever practiced on the piano. Anyway, it's yet another point of worry that is currently camping out in the back of my mind, crowding in with the need for scholarships, with the hazy future, with the guilt of things left undone. But I guess, again, it isn't that big of a deal. I don't have to minor my first year. I can reapply if I don't get in the first time. Right?
The first five minutes or so were fun, greeting everyone I hadn't seen in two weeks or so. The day wasn't as bad as it could have been, not as monotonous or boring, stressful or draining as many others have been. So all in all, I count it as a successful day. I found the exhaustion set in once I sat down to do my homework. I battled through a little bit of it and then gave up. I wrote after that.
So this is the week where Maria and I will journey to Tampa for our grand All-State Choir adventure! I am very excited about the trip. We will miss three days of school, to sing. What better trade-off can you get? A long drive with one of your best friends, and music music music. I can't wait until the concerts, though. We are singing in separate choirs and so, if all goes well, I should be able to see her concert and she mine.
Speaking of music, I have a confession to make. I am absolutely mortified and appalled at my own lack of preparation, my failure to execute, my oversight. I think I have settled on a major (English) but for a while now, I've also been saying I would like to minor in music performance on the piano. Well, I missed the music department's deadline to apply and schedule an audition at one of my top colleges. It was December 31. And I feel like such a fool because I didn't even check when the date was until I got back from my New Years trip. As Maria and my mother pointed out, it isn't the end of the world because I don't necessarily have to minor my first year. I can always apply second semester or jump in the next year. I don't have to minor in anything at all. I don't even know which college I want to go to! (By the way, the other two choices have upcoming deadlines this month and next month. This one college is just much more demanding). I still feel awful.
I'm really nervous about auditions, actually. I will be asked to play all major and minor scales, two octaves, hands together. I can easily do two octaves hands together on most of the major scales, but I really need to polish quite a few of them, and my minor scales are atrocious. I don't like minor scales. It thrills me to play in minor keys, but I do not like the scales. I also have to sight-read, which is not something I have ever practiced on the piano. Anyway, it's yet another point of worry that is currently camping out in the back of my mind, crowding in with the need for scholarships, with the hazy future, with the guilt of things left undone. But I guess, again, it isn't that big of a deal. I don't have to minor my first year. I can reapply if I don't get in the first time. Right?
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Dawn
I welcomed the New Year at my grandparents' house with my mother's two brothers, with my grandparents and my great-grandmother, with one uncle's family and the other uncle's dog. It was a lot of fun, but it was incredibly crowded, which seems to stress me out a touch.
We discovered that my dog has an affinity for champagne. She stole the cork when my uncle opened the bottle. I found her gnawing on it in one of the bedroom's and she was viciously protective of her little treasure. Then my grandfather got a little over-enthusiastic in a card game and happened to knock his champagne completely over. It was a total mess, but the puddle on the floor was hastily lapped up by my puppy, much to our amusement.
I really hate champagne. It tastes awful. It smells awful. It's so vigorously bubbly that it's painful to drink. I've only ever sampled it a couple times. Once at a wedding. And then a couple new year's eves with my parents. I keep trying it, thinking it's an acquired taste, and I keep regretting that I tried it. Blegh.
So my uncles have a rather interesting taste in movies and they were about to sit down and watch one just as all the grandchildren were being herded into beds. There was a big fuss because my cousins and my sister were interested in watching this movie, which happened to be rated R and was therefore forbidden. They were all in the living room arguing but I had already settled in my sleeping bag in the room where we were staying. For about ten minutes, I stared at the ceiling and listened to the debate.
The language in the movie was horrible, but the language in schools is surely just as bad.
There were some inappropriate topics, but the kids had all been exposed to jokes of that nature at school.
It was really late (past midnight) but we were on break and could sleep in the next day.
But the language was just really bad. The moms wouldn't want them to watch the movie.
It was at this point I decided to add my two cents by pointing out we could hear everything anyway in our doorless room right by the living room. To further emphasize my statement, I yelled it from my warm sleeping bag rather than get up.
Of course, the adults won the argument, as adults tend to do. The children were issued ear plugs for the night.
School starts back up tomorrow. I am not looking forward to it. But we're halfway there now. It's 2010, our graduating year. It still hasn't sunk in yet.
We discovered that my dog has an affinity for champagne. She stole the cork when my uncle opened the bottle. I found her gnawing on it in one of the bedroom's and she was viciously protective of her little treasure. Then my grandfather got a little over-enthusiastic in a card game and happened to knock his champagne completely over. It was a total mess, but the puddle on the floor was hastily lapped up by my puppy, much to our amusement.
I really hate champagne. It tastes awful. It smells awful. It's so vigorously bubbly that it's painful to drink. I've only ever sampled it a couple times. Once at a wedding. And then a couple new year's eves with my parents. I keep trying it, thinking it's an acquired taste, and I keep regretting that I tried it. Blegh.
So my uncles have a rather interesting taste in movies and they were about to sit down and watch one just as all the grandchildren were being herded into beds. There was a big fuss because my cousins and my sister were interested in watching this movie, which happened to be rated R and was therefore forbidden. They were all in the living room arguing but I had already settled in my sleeping bag in the room where we were staying. For about ten minutes, I stared at the ceiling and listened to the debate.
The language in the movie was horrible, but the language in schools is surely just as bad.
There were some inappropriate topics, but the kids had all been exposed to jokes of that nature at school.
It was really late (past midnight) but we were on break and could sleep in the next day.
But the language was just really bad. The moms wouldn't want them to watch the movie.
It was at this point I decided to add my two cents by pointing out we could hear everything anyway in our doorless room right by the living room. To further emphasize my statement, I yelled it from my warm sleeping bag rather than get up.
Of course, the adults won the argument, as adults tend to do. The children were issued ear plugs for the night.
School starts back up tomorrow. I am not looking forward to it. But we're halfway there now. It's 2010, our graduating year. It still hasn't sunk in yet.
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