hmm.

kind of a sad day in camobunny's little hutch.

sigh.

missing

did i loan you my vince guaraldi trio christmas cd?

because i want it back.

harrumph.

would you like to take a survey?

humor me for a bit. it's just one question, and it could be so funny.

arrogance

today my fingers hurt. kind of a lot. it even hurts to type. i wonder if people noticed me involuntarily grimacing as the strings cut into my fingertips this morning, adding to my unhappiness.

i suppose i spoke inaccurately this morning. i said i was "stressed out". in retrospect, that wasn’t the case. i was angry.

i go from feeling underappreciated to feeling used pretty quickly. i suppose they’re really not all that far from each other on the spectrum, because at the root of it is the feeling that people aren’t bothering to take you, your abilties, your needs, or your feelings into account. it's actually a feeling that falls into the category of selfish feelings. see, i’m not usually one to boohoo about that kind of stuff. i just kinda get ticked for a little while, and then move on, because i mean, come on, that’s life. in the grand scheme of things, no one is that important. but this morning i got really worked up. i mean, really worked up. i was just standing there, thinking, and i got madder and madder until i became unreasonable.

i'd been asked to play guitar. very well; i like to try to help, and i need more opportunities to work on the guitar. and i was told there'd be a strong vocal group, so i could relax and focus on guitar, which i need because i am a beginner. okay. sounds like a good opportunity. so i arrive on saturday. but other people do not. oh, so okay, they should be there tomorrow? despite the "no practice, no play" policy we have that has caused me to have to switch around work shifts to my inconvenience? sigh. very well. i'll add a few vocals to help out today, while we don't have those people, and things will be better tomorrow when they come. thank God for capo charts. oops, i'm not good enough to do that one without a capo either; guess i'll have to transpose in my head, and learn a few new chords too. okay.

sunday morning. still lacking one singer, who hasn't found a replacement. fine. three singers is enough. oh, it isn't? fine. i'll help support i guess. wait, what? you want to change the vocal arrangement? ugh. but fine. what? i'm leading a song? bah, fine. what? you don't know your part, and now i have to sightread a new complicated one? the tenor? the one line that the keyboard player consistently omits from the accompaniment so i really am sightsinging? what?

okay, pause to tally this up. okay, now go.

when i express discomfort with this, desiring change, i hear "OH you're not trusting that it will be okay."

WHAT? HOW... INCREDIBLY... RUDE! of course it'll be okay for you. i am the one who now has to pick up the slack for everyone else's irresponsibility, tardiness, lack of practice, lack of musicianship, lack of commitment, lack of common courtesy. all of this would have been avoided if everyone had done what they were supposed to do. everyone else can trust that it will be okay because i'm the one doing the rest of the work. and when i say "no" to extra responsibility, i am the one being petulant and selfish?

now, yes, i am good. i have the skills. i CAN handle this. i mean, last week i got subbed in on keyboards at the VERY last minute and helped the group recover from BIG HUGE mistakes with flair and artistry all while sightreading. stressful it was, but totally worth it, and the humility and gratitude in everyone's spirit (including mine! i can't take credit for the save; it was divine intervention) was beautiful.

this was different. see, just because i CAN, doesn't mean i SHOULD, and it really doesn't mean i'll be able to do it with the proper humility and state of mind. it's no fun to have those abilities abused and taken for granted, to be worked and stretched to the limit because of other people's shortcomings and then be told that i need to work on relaxing and having a trusting spirit.

i should have just walked away. i was so mad; my heart wasn't in the right place to be playing or singing. that would have been the right thing to do. oh wouldn't THAT have been misinterpreted as a glorious diva moment?! and wouldn't it have caused outright panic and pandemonium? hahaha. i'm so evil, that thought makes me grin. or maybe it's a sneer.

what if i did go diva? shall i make everyone else have to work on MY terms? should i withdraw my offer to be helpful by playing instruments and demand that i will only sing? and saunter in late all the time and never learn my part, and only sing lines that are convenient for me, or comfortably within my range? and demand that it should always be in the style i deem appropriate? OR... should i quit?

i run my thumb across my sore fingertips, and the pain reminds me of how mad i got this morning. evidently, i still feel it was justifiable. a little spark of anger shoots off inside me and flickers briefly before it goes out.

what's worst of all, this is tainting my love and experiences of music with these negative feelings.

if you're on the music team and you read this, please. please, please, please. just, please. don't say anything. there's no need. i'm just being selfish and arrogant, and this is where i vent. and i feel much better now. and now i can smile, and go and do my job that i love, all night long, with a pleasant attitude.

so don't say anything. don't say thanks, don't say sorry. don't say anything.

just don't do it to me again.

feels like...

i don't know. i guess i liked the blue color they used.

impromptu

i love being a musician.

it's a little secret i keep with me. i walk around with it all day long and when i think about it, it makes me smile.

so, today i revealed my secret to someone from work. turns out that on the side she's a publicist for a professional singer. even after i bashed her client with an "oh! man, i'm better than she is!", she wanted to hear me sing—so with a sudden change of plans, there we were at the piano bar.

it was only a few songs, but it was really fun. i was actually able to relax with it even though she was there. she was very encouraging and enthusiastic and all that, but that's not what i'm all excited about.

being able to make music anytime is such a gift. i mean, like a present. a present for me! and every time i open it, i am absolutely giddy.

i hope i can sleep tonight. i gotta wrangle with my gee-tar in the mo'nin'.

oh. my. gosh.

if tonight had been a movie
i would have started with the moon
in a shade of gold
this midnight she had her eyes hidden behind
clouds of dark grey, the veil covering all but
the lovely curve of her chin and jawline.
close-up, and follow that curve;
pan out to an unfocused shot
which blends and blurs, green and blue appearing
and flashing white tells you that we’re
focusing in on a tambourine
emblazoned with the emblem of brazil
and the leathered brown hands
shaking, shaking, shaking and slapslapslapping it
the shot fixed in space and rhythm
the metal parts of the tambourine (what are these called?)
dancing a friendly beat

that would be the theme. somehow.

it was one of those experiences where i wanted very much to be a fly on the wall;
the spirit of the room was lively and high
the music went on, and on, because they so loved to play and sing
not necessarily all that well, but they loved it, and they did it together
(our culture distinctly lacks this)

but how would i splice in the layer of anxiety? the tense discomfort of having a socially awkward, unwanted guest clinging like a wart at your elbow? the unfortunate happenstance of meeting someone you know but not very well so you must make the dreaded (shudder) small talk? the unseemly, indiscreet stares from strangers all around? and THEN! to hear your name called out, that you, young woman, be put on display in front of a barful of leering brazilian men, to sing a pathetic translated rendition of a song from their culture—right after having a meal that featured a cream sauce?

i’m not sure how i’d go about that.

but i did get to hear an awesome musician chick whom i’ve admired for a while play at the beginning.

on living alone

no, i do not have any pets.

the only other life form in my town house was my plant. it was an orchid. it died.

now it's just me and my guitar.

sounds bleak doesn't it? sounds like country music lyrics. well actually, i'm enjoying it very much.

people who live alone may get lonely, but hey, you all! don't forget the things that are so great about our lifestyle.

when i put something down, it will stay where it is until i move it.
when i put food in the fridge, it will stay there until i eat it.
when i want to listen to music, i listen to whatever i want.
when i want to change the thermostat, no one argues.
when i get home from work at 3 am, i won't be worrying or disturbing a soul.
when i take a shower, i can stay in as long as i want, using super-hot water as i like, and not spoil anyone else's shower. (though i can't sing as loud as i want, because my neighbor will hear.)
when i find a mess at my place, it's because i made it. it is with a certain amount of glee that i've been making my apartment messy over the past few weeks. the mess right now is glorious. glorious.
when i want to take a nap in the middle of the day, i just draw the blinds and do it. no one makes any noise to bother me.
when i sleep, no one's snoring wakes me.
and all the closet space is mine! and i never have to share anything.

there's more; of course there's more.

odd, though. none of these good things stands alone. each one implies an absence of someone else.

or is that just how i wrote it?

love

i say it because, surprisingly, more people need to learn this than i thought.

real love, by definition, results in putting the desires and best interests of someone else before your own.

it's often at this step that people get stuck, unable to take it.

don't be fooled, dearies.

samba!

does anybody want to come and listen to a group play samba music with me tonight? i know it's short notice...

dangit.

peppermint jones

i had a dream in which a woman was doing an impersonation of peppermint jones. the crowd went wild over it.

now, who in the world is peppermint jones, and why am i dreaming about her?

eek!

once again, my photo has made it out onto the world wide web.

strike that. correction: two hundred ten photos of me have been published simultaneously on the world wide web.

in my field this would be called a violation. a hipaa violation, to be precise.

i'm not sure what to do. i don't really have the right to feel violated. after all, the copyright belongs to someone else.

everybody still wants to be me

okay.

i got this haircut before charlize theron started filming aeon flux.

i'm just saying.

feels like...

it's funny, i think.

how do THEY know what it feels like? i don't buy it.

(by the way, it feels much better than the other day.)

concert

oh, cyrus!
cyrus chestnut.
cy-rus CHES’-NUT!

my patients are the best

i know you know i felt kinda crappy last night. i think it was the weather, plus a phone call i got. mostly the weather. whatever. and this morning was cold, cold, cold. i knew i had to get fresh scrubs and go put air in my tires before getting to work at 0700. i got up at 0530 and it still wasn't quite enough time.

i hate being late. i wasn't, but i thought i was going to be, which is irritating. not a good way to start the day. especially a cold day. i hate the cold. have i mentioned how i hate the cold?

my first patient of the day definitely helped me more than i helped him. he was a quiet one who appeared wise beyond his years as he stoically looked all about the room. he looked directly at me as i approached his bedside. his eyes were large and knowing, and reflected no questioning or doubts. not a sound did he make as i made my intentions clear and pulled back his covers. i completed my examination with his complete and silent cooperation. remarkable. i covered him back up and looked toward him one last time. at this point he looked back at me and lifted his hand to his face.

i couldn't take it anymore. i had to pick him up and talk to him, and thank this warm little newborn baby for making me feel better on this cold, cold day.

suddenly

and with a deep breath and a sigh
suddenly you can be back to blue
just like that.

gotcha

thanks for stopping by camobunny’s corner, where i have recently celebrated passing the 1,000 hit milemarker. so here’s a question for you regular visitors:

what keeps you coming back?

is it just habit? curiosity? masochism? reciprocity? a burning excitement to see what colors the camo of the day will be? appreciation of my job-related mishaps? the free cookies? my ongoing references to poop? the feeling of comfort you get knowing someone else’s life is screwier than yours? my cute fluffy bunny tail? fascination as though looking at a big ol’ auto wreck?

i already know the answers from puffintoad (true friendship) and cousinray (compulsion). what about you? yeah, you. and also you, york mills, ontario, canada, if that is your real location? and you, andre and josué?

i'm just curious. and maybe if you tell me, i’ll be able to give you more of what you want. if i'm in the mood. oh, who am i kidding? i’m going to keep writing whatever i darn well please.

adorable

i can post this because i am a pediatrician.

and because it's freakin' hilarious. even funnier than the fat bearded paris hilton link i have over thar in my sidebar.

you know what he did?

by request

puffintoad said...

someone find me a photo of a puffintoad.
3:14 am

okay, so, um, don't laugh.


it's a first try, on multiple levels.

oh, and then i guess there's this guy. sorry it's pun-like, but i bet he's puffin'.

luvfest

i'm really feelin' the luv, folks. thanks.

tickertape and confetti!

congratulations to josué, who was responsible for my 1,000th website hit. what does he win? a free trip around fat albert? a lifetime supply of oscar meyer weenie whistles? tell him what he's won!

ummm, i guess he wins a link to his blog, new wave bossa nova. also he wins me singing a song of congratulations. i'm singing it right now.

(wow, i was so excited i typed that whole thing with normal capitalization at first.)

disillusionment

alas.

andersen consulting's ad predates dr. hathaway's file by at least 8 months. (fortune magazine, 14 june 1993.)

ah, well. we'll always have solar maximum.

not quite there

mah na mah na.

when it comes to music and performing, i often feel like this guy. know what i mean?

it's the look in his eyes.

sometimes the title is my favorite part of a post.
see, i’m the woman who reads the title of every art piece she looks at in the museum.
i think it makes all the difference in the world.
when you can come up with a sweeping, succinct way to provide context or summary for your material, it’s a beautiful thing. and how could you possibly understand what a piece means if you don’t consider the title?

good morning, sunshine

this morning's incredibly beautiful weather was a slap in the face that stunned me. i opened my front door to find people sitting outside enjoying the warmth of the sun, as leaves blew about on the comfortably cool wind.

instead of grumbling, i stayed silent in my heart and felt nonplussed.

simple

and all i wanted was a bagel with cream cheese, a fruit smoothie, and someone who understands.

is that so much to ask?

prodigious, prolific posting

here we go!

camobunny's theme

i’ve decided that what my life needs is a soundtrack. seriously.

the stuff that happens in my life might actually be pretty exciting. i don’t usually perceive it as such because it’s my life, but i’ve found that the things that happen around me are the stuff that tv shows are made of. it’s hilarious to see oprah or whomever get all dramatic about subjects that fill my daily worklife.

i’ve long said that my personal life is like a really boring soap opera. stalkers, rock-band dramas, psychotics proposing to me— oh, and there’s so much more. but as i sit at my computer, wearing my beeper because i’m on call for transport, i look up at this plastic model of a human heart that sits atop my computer tower, and i know my work life too is anything but average. i need to amend the soap opera statement somehow.

see i don’t realize my job is exciting because there is no soundtrack, no frenetic or dramatic music in the background to announce to everyone “this is it folks!”, no suspenseful tremolo chords when something is going awry, no fanfares when i save a life.

and so what about my personal life? my personality? i get the feeling that lots of people have very different views of me because of how i dress and behave in each little sector of my life. i freaked some people out in the e.r. when i showed up in a skirt instead of scrubs. like, blew their minds. the john deere t-shirt i wore to ministry team meeting put a question mark over my pastor’s head. the new haircut is definitely freakin’ people out, even though it’s much more reflective of my personality.

what i really need is a theme song for my soundtrack. camobunny's theme. that would explain things instantly. don’t you think?

if you were

if you were a style of music, which one would you be?

i’m not sure i know the answer to this one for myself. i thought of the question the other day after a conversation with cousinray. in trying to explain my appreciation of funk music, i said something like, funk is like a fun, goofy friend that i really enjoy being around even though i don’t always relate completely with it.

see, we used to play this game in college. it still applies.

if i were a super mario character i’d be mario. reasonably well-rounded, with moderately good all-around skills, but not often picked for the adventure. (just that one desert level with the pyramids.)

and if i were an animal i wouldn’t really be a tiger-striped rabbit. i think i’ve become a bobcat (i was a panther before).

a color? burgundy. i’d like to be white, simple and pure, but i’m just not.

a kind of light? i’m a glow. i don’t have the energy of a sparkle, and i’m not quite as candidly open as sunshine, but i’m much more subtle and interesting than an incandescent bulb.

a fruit? a prickly pineapple, of course. that is well established, my friend, and surely you know that by now.

i don’t know what kind of music i’d be. i’d like to say jazz of course but i’m not sure if it’s true.

how about you?

break for fashion nonsense

and now we break for even girlier stuff.
***************************
gut feeling

i don’t know why it bothers me, but it bothers me a little when men talk about how much they like it when women wear ball caps and pull their ponytails through the hole in the back. what is up with that? and no, it’s not just because i have no ponytail anymore.
***************************
double standard

there are a few things that actually aren’t fair to men. like, women can wear pants and suits and even ties and and pretty much anything that men wear and it’s okay. but a man wearing a skirt or certain shirts (the ones that look like blouses) is automatically cross-dressing. and, men don’t get to hide their pimples with makeup if they want to.
***************************
uniforms

ladies like a man in uniform. i guess in general that’s true and i can’t refute it. but i’ve gotta say, crusty old doctors who’ve never said a word to me before will suddenly be friendly and compliment the flight suit. everyone looks good in the flight suit, especially us chicks. aww, yeah...

excitement

SO EXCITED.

gaptoof trio tonight. jazz quartet sunday night. symphony fusion show, debussy and monet! next wednesday. my favorite jazz pianist in concert next friday.

and a new mp3 player for me!

all brought to me by my work for the transport team. i knew i was doing it for a reason. hoo-wah!

gosh, i'm like, squirming in my skin. i'm so psyched.

unfair

you know what i've thought is kind of unfair?
gwyneth paltrow can sing too.

listening room

it now occurs to me how few true listening venues there are for good live music. last night i was so excited to go out to sit alone at my own little table with my dessert and black coffee and just listen to my friend gaptoof's trio play. i really love it when i have the opportunity to do that. well, my friend had invited plenty of his other friends, and as he introduced me to his other friends i suddenly had social obligation to fulfill. "it's a pleasure to meet you." then we launch into that dreaded dance called small talk. i consider myself incapable of small talk. idle chatter for unbridled tongues.

the woman next to me kept initiating conversation, even though nothing about my initial body language solicited it. rather, it usually says, "i'm very involved with this song that's playing right now." after about three minutes i felt rude and turned my chair back in toward the table. we then talked the whole time, which is unusual for me; i can't usually have a conversation about things i don't care about. we must have been talking about things i care about. maybe that's the unusual part. it's not often i find people who also care about things i feel are worth talking about.

so i have made an acquaintance. she wants to come to church. that's cool i guess.

whoa. that didn't hit me 'til just now. maybe that's why i was there last night. now i don't feel so disgruntled about not getting listen to the music the way i had intended. from one listening room to another.

too bad my migraine has continued from last night into today, draping the entire right side of my face in pain and coloring my current views of the world with a tinge of nausea. sometimes i wonder if i'm actually in status migrainosus that's temporarily suppressed by NSAIDs. speaking of NSAIDs, i'd better go put something on my stomach and a touch of caffeine into my system. then i can come back and listen to more midón while i put off doing my work.

nickname me

camobunny’s my handle. i had to come up with that one myself. it’s no fun to nickname yourself.

this has been a standing challenge for years. no one has succeeded. nickname me. come on. i challenge you to find one that people agree suits me. you all who know me well may decide by majority vote.

retrospective

funny thing about looking back on yourself. there’s opportunity to feel sheepishly stupid, nostalgic, all kinds of ways.

when i read the stuff i wrote in the past, i shake my head. i get a heavy, eerie feeling in my stomach because I WAS RIGHT ON. i hadn’t really experienced much in life, but all the truths i was discovering or thinking on at the time have only been proven or reinforced or revealed in more elaborate detail with time and experience. the song i wrote about love without ever having been in love? i felt silly for doing that, but it was the task at hand. surprisingly enough, that’s exactly how it was. themes of truth, humanity, life and death, all that stuff that young people with journals write about out (the ones who aren’t hopelessly shallow or egocentric), all of them have panned out just as i suspected they might.

you might be thinking that this is all a matter of my conceit and that i merely feel that i was right because i’m so arrogant. after all, i idolize being right, right? well, though that is honestly the case in other parts of my life, that’s not really what’s going on here. because it surprises me that i wasn’t wrong. i mean, what could i possibly have known, being who i was in the place i was?

has enough time elapsed to do a retrospective? it’s been less time than would be appropriate for most people i would say, but there is something particularly aging about working in my field. you just grow up faster when you’re surrounded daily by illness and death, with your hands laboring at works of healing and saving.

when i was about, oh, 20, i asked God for wisdom. i didn’t know what i was doing at the time, but i knew that if you ask, He gives it. once you clarify with yourself what wisdom truly is then you are aware when it is there and when it isn’t. anyway, i very clearly remember that period of time, when the pursuit of wisdom seemed like the right thing for me, and i wonder just how much that has to do with who i am today.

i also immensely enjoy reading over my old writing style. i’ve lost so much ground in that area—especially with this recent pseudosenility that seems to be attacking me. instead of flowing phrases, i’ve started jotting things down in skeletal half-sentences to capture the point and the context in a hurry, and then i have to go back to fill in style and detail. it feels really bad. and when i do have flowing phrases, their rhythm is very awkward and disagreeable before i edit and edit and edit again.

here’s an example:

optimism in the morning helicopter trip with the smoky horizon and the miniature houses with the snaking trains and the twinkling lights, not far enough away to feel grandiose but far enough to see all and wonder at it all. why has this made me feel optimistic twice in a row? sunrise over the city, beginning of the day. cars getting started. cars in lots in perfect grids. quiet schoolyards and outdoor amphitheatres. ponds and pools shimmer in a fascinating ugly artificial blackness. baby on a stretcher, sleep deprivation, beginning of a day? end of a day? there are things in life that are good and you should look for them. you should look. look.

oof. anyway.

maybe this is an indication that i should listen to myself more often.

peppy

tonight i'm enjoying raul midón's duet with jason mraz, "keep on hopin'." it's peppy and optimistic, with bouncy rhythm guitar on the offbeats, and whistling in a few places. not only that, these guys are singing about love. in harmony, in thirds.

so unlike me.

but i smile when i hear that ending:
mraaaaaaaaaz... rauuuuuuuuul...

it's cute, and i like it.

this is an indication that there are possibilities returning to my life.

and there's pink in today's camo.

bummer

dr. david hathaway seems to have lost funding for one of his projects. i'm slightly bummed for him.

in the meantime, a big "woohoo" to dr. david gore. he kicks butt in his own way. thanks for stopping by to chat, dr. gore.

stay tuned; my quest for solar maximum has begun...

(puffintoad, this one's for you.)

anonymity

why the anonymity? why do i try to remove clues as to who i am?

well young friends, here is a bit of wisdom for you. you may not have thought of this yet. let's say 5-10 years from now you have a job. you like this job. it brings you money. which feeds you food. and it does good for the world. you also have a professional reputation. which you must maintain in order to keep your job. which brings you money. which feeds you food.

now let's say someone—oh, for example, your boss— puts your name in a search engine and finds your blog.

is this a good thing or a bad thing? it hasn't happened to me, but if it did, it would be neutral. fortunately i don't think i've said anything i'm ashamed of, or that would hurt my professional reputation all THAT much. it might make my colleagues and superiors think i'm a huge dork, but other than that, no harm done. besides, they already know i'm a huge dork. but i AM about to start a NEW job, and they don't know. and what they don't know won't hurt them. and you never know what someone will find to use against you.

try to keep it on the d.l., kids. some people have lost their jobs because of their blogs. jes' a lil' bit o' wisdom from the old grey hare, the camobunny.

apology

camodidi!

i'm sorry! it's my fault, but it's not my fault, and then again it is, but it's also not!

i had no idea something bad would happen. i still don't understand exactly what happened. we'll talk later.

sorry!

opinion?

so how have you liked my camo so far?

contentious

i have a short fuse.

i wonder if this is something i have actually inherited from my father, not unlike my short shins, flat butt, and bulky calves.

not only is my fuse short, i fear that i may actually like to fight. i hope not, but it may be the case. oh, i hope not.

every day that i am gracious, it’s like, it’s like.... hmm. let’s try this. picture in your mind a person with a dog on a leash. i walk in one direction, using all my might, straining against the force of this rabid dog, snarling and snapping behind me as it tries to take off in the other direction.

the dog does get loose every once in a while. the camobunny’s claws come out, and in words sharper than gleaming knives they slash and cut, destroying my precious relationships. i can be a real jerk inside and out. and of that i feel great shame. i return, tail between my legs, head hanging low, and i beg forgiveness. i do not deserve it.

at this point i feel that i must first grapple with the evil forces inside me and best them before i can apologize in a truly genuine fashion. so if i owe you an apology, which i probably do, that is why it has not yet come. know that i do feel sorry right now, but that’s not enough. i want to do something to prevent this from happening again before i come to you in apology.

i have now cut a swath around myself, clearing that area of friends and loved ones, and again i stand alone. at this point i choose not to inflict myself upon anyone. “for it is better to live in a corner of a roof than in a house shared with a contentious woman.” it’s so true that it’s in proverbs multiple times.

sigh.

women are crazy

i have decided that in the future I should demand jewelry from the men i date. that way when they dump me, at least i’ll have something worth keeping from the relationship.

ba-dum-bum. it’s a joke folks! in fact, i’m a pretty easy girlfriend when it comes to material things. although i must admit i did get a kick out of camodidi saying, “[camobunny] has a neck that was made for jewelry,” i’m not all that into jewels, and shows of money for the sake of show do nothing to impress me. in fact, they sort of repulse me. for me it really is the thought that counts. for real! like when my last boyfriend’s present for me was a cookie, i didn’t get upset at all. yes folks, a cookie. not just any cookie, and not a cookie he made. not the big fancy decorated kind. one small, RE-GIFTED cookie. that was years ago, and it’s taken ‘til recently for me to be able to say aloud that it was a horrible gift reflecting a horrible relationship with a horrible man whom i loved dearly.

see, fellas? compared to that, anything is going to be better! my next boyfriend’s got it made.

which somehow brings me to my point for today. often when i hang out with couples i can’t help but notice how badly women treat their men. get this, do that. nag, nag, nag, me, me, me. and they take it. damn fools in love these men must be. or spineless. or expecting to get sex in return. i'm sure i don't know.

someone once pointed out, “maybe he prefers it that way.” i just can’t believe that. is it true?

i just hope i am never tempted to be the way these women are. any guy who would choose to stay with me deserves better than that.

linky-loo

for today's better effort, go to the Prickly Pineapple.

meeting people

so i've met these people. they're a couple. they seem to be your average okay people.

actually, i take that back. she's okay people. he's smarmy, obnoxious, and opinioniated without justification. and he has horrible taste in music.

now what do i do? there's no avoiding them, so must i be friends with them? would that be the right thing to do? or would that be disingenuous?

update

evidently they are not roaches. they are box elder bugs, and everyone is having trouble with them, especially around south-facing doors and windows. that is much less disgusting.

question

how does one eat oreos without getting black crumbs all over one's clothing?

joke

i know it was a joke before, but the more i think about it...

if someone actually found me a pair of tiger-striped bunny slippers i'd totally flip out.

pride

i hate it, HATE it when people tell me things i already know as though they are teaching me. i've been like that ever since i was a little kid. how do i put that particular pride away? i'd like to be truly gracious about it. instead i smile on the outside and say something nice when on the inside i'm raging and feeling as though i need to prove myself better than they think i am. i know they don't mean it that way. but i still get angry.

i'd like to learn more about how a practice (e.g. being gracious) turns into a habit which turns into second nature, which hopefully just becomes natural.

humility

now playing on my sound system is a recording of myself last week singing a song at church. i haven't listened to a recording of myself in a long time. i can't decide how i feel about this one.

i had already written nearly an entire post about the experience of singing this song and now that i know what it sounded like i have to finish it by beginning with a disclaimer and ending with criticism.

the mistakes in intonation and my unsupported tone at the beginning frustrate me enough that i am in a way unable to hear whether or not the next verses are good. then i recall that i was trying not to cry, and i can forgive myself somewhat.

you see, here's the setup. the pastor had just announced that bad things were happening to people at our church. it was something especially heartbreaking to specific members of the congregation, including the singer next to me, who began to sob aloud.

i had several moments before i was to start singing our song for communion. then, me. my turn. my turn to be the sole voice echoing throughout the gymnasium. no pressure. no fair.

i had previously decided not to allow myself to feel the meaning of what i was singing. i had meditated on the lyrics’ significance for a while already, and i knew it’d make me cry upon actual solo rendition, with real accompaniment (dulcimer and guitar). now with this extra bit of emotional stress, it took a little more effort to unfocus that most sensitive part of my brain and look straight ahead at the music in such a way that i would only see the words on the page, black on white, simple, plain, to transliterate them directly into notes and sounds. do not consider. do not pass “go”. do not collect $200.

as i started i did notice a few spots of shoddy intonation, difficult to fix without better ventral support. my mic was turned up so darn hot that i couldn’t support like i wanted to or it would distort. i hate it when they're like that. in a few places my voiced scratched a little, also because of lack of support and trying not to cry. so i went into lullaby mode after a few lines. you know, not real singing, kinda like, well, where you make your vocal cords as slack as possible and go all airy and then you need to have the mic right up to your face. i focused hard on the aesthetic itself, making each tone as pretty (pretty isn’t usually my thing) as possible, embellishing only with a few refined vowel shapings and consonant variations. nooooo, no rubato or mordents or any of that junk. i’m a purist. certain melodies are most powerful in their purest form. calm tempo, gently pulsing rhythm. shape the lines into the sentences you see before you. make it float. make those lines hover in the air to shimmer as long as possible before dissipating.

it’s okay to do that every once in a while, disconnect like that. i was consciously thinking about how the congregation is blessed, that God blesses them through the pure elements of the lyrics and the notes themselves, so for this time i wanted to focus on those things.

listening now to this unforgiving recording i want to forget that i thought it went that well. it's fine; i can hear that it went just fine. but only fine.

i usually listen to myself to try to see how i can improve. i'm somewhat disappointed at this because i guess i thought i'd improved more than i have. and this time i can't figure out what to do differently (since it felt good at the time) besides hold the mic further away from my face and go ahead and support more for the sake of tone and intonation. forget about those consonant variations; they sound cheesy and forced. oh and don't pay attention to people crying around me. i know deep down that that's not going to fix the real issue. the real issue is that i'm just not really THAT good. i say this with all objectivity and neutrality of emotion, not in a self-deprecating or depressed way.

i prefer the opposite of what just happened. i prefer to think that i am not as good i really am. that way reality is a pleasant surprise. ah, humility. something else i need to practice. i suppose this most recent exercise counts?

infant

"infant" is a funny word. especially if you're using it as an insult.

sniff

and all at once you look across a crowded room to see the way that light attaches to a girl

what exactly does he think the smell of hospitals in winter is? especially out in california?

happy birthday dear someone

today is november 4. it is someone's birthday today, but i can't remember whose.

happy birthday, whoever you are. i remembered your birthday! but I can't remember you.

my memory is failing.

justify me, please

tell me,

am i allowed to have such great disdain for fanatics of professional sports when i am such a die-hard music fan?

snobbery

concerts are the ultimate venue for a musician to live out her snobbery.

do you clap in between movements at classical music concerts?

i do not. i used to cringe and feel embarassed for people who did. now i cringe and feel ashamed of the audience as a whole, for the majority of people around here clap between movements.

if i am in the minority, how do i know i'm right?

because of the annoyed, tight smiles on the performers' faces while waiting for that applause to die down.

do you clap after solos in jazz performances? i do. often i am the only one. again, how do i know i'm right? because of the silently shared chuckles and head shakes from the performers when the audience fails to listen closely enough to applaud their improvisations.

is this a reflection of the fact that i am a musician, or is it me trying to make myself feel as though i am one? sometimes the biggest snobs are the ones who don't really belong to the club.

tonight, however, i was not ashamed of the audience, for i could tell that the performers understood that though we didn't follow the etiquette, it was only because we were so excited, sincere, and generous with our appreciation.

addendum: sometimes i really want to bust out clapping at the end of a great (classical) cadenza. haven't been able to bring myself to do it (boy, would that confuse the rest of the audience!) but i think if i were the performer it would make me swell with pride.

abiding

something is not right

all of the things i had to say this evening were sort of half-baked. i made a lot of non-sequitur comments and was speaking in half-sentences that didn't quite match their other halves. i kept starting to try to make a point, then forgot what point i was trying to make. unfortunately, though i was frustrated, i didn't shut up. i kept trying, and that just made it worse.

maybe it was the chocolate on an empty stomach. maybe it was the past two days of testing. maybe i'll be back to normal tomorrow. or maybe tomorrow i'll wake up to find myself completely insane.

maybe then i won't have to go to work.

peace

and now it is over. i have survived, slightly wounded but alive, black warriors by my side.

i was going to say "i emerge victorious," but i can't quite say that. you see, a major way that this exam is not like a battle is that when you fight a battle, it is determined relatively soon who won and who lost.

i won't find out my results until january.