And we're off.

I would never let anyone else plan my schedule.  If they did, I would never get anything done.  By anyone else’s definition, I am overcommitted.  By mine, it’s looking like it’ll be just right.  Despite the guerrilla-esque style Wheaton music faculty decided to employ for auditions, I managed to get myself in with a piano teacher who ran class sitting in a tree today, a choir director who goes to the same 6:15 a.m. pilates class I’ve convinced myself to attend, and a symphony conductor I’m sure has some quirks up his sleeve that I’ll find out about just as soon as rehearsal starts.

While I stand behind most of the decisions I’ve made thus far, there are a few where I really do question my judgment in a few decisions:

• scheduling my classes through lunch.  I mean, it wasn’t all that intentional, and I’m overcoming it with graham crackers, peanut butter, apples, and sharp cheddar cheese (big thanks to Sargento for making string cheese that tastes like something)
• auditioning for ensembles where sectionals for one overlap with rehearsals for the other
• agreeing to go to the square dance tonight just because Urban Passage people said I should

Some of my finer moments:

• telling the conservatory that really, I think two ensembles is enough
• answering my French professor’s plea for a verb to conjugate with manger (to eat) just so I could also provide the most fun food items as direct objects: je mange du pain, tu manges un pamplemousse, elle mange du yaourt, nous mangeons des croissants...
• taking my roommate’s decision to go to bed early as an opportunity to hang the PVA panoramic picture up on the wall
• mentally putting an overzealous lit classmate in her place when she mispronounced the city “Bath”
• emailing last year’s English teacher to tell him of the satisfaction I found in knowing how to pronounce “Bath” as the locals do
• using downtime in my piano lesson to scan the walls for pithy posters. I’ll leave you with the text from one of my favorites:

The Senility Prayer
Grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway, 

the good fortune to run into the ones I do, 

and the eyesight to tell the difference.

It'll be a good year.

Murder on the Orient(ation) Express

Whoever came up with the idea of orientation has serious issues.  It is becoming my firm belief that the best way to orient students to a new environment is not through cramming as many awkward “ice cream socials” (the kind that actually don’t end up having ice cream at all) and mandatory floor meetings into the day as possible, but through giving people time to assemble lamps, go to Whole Foods, practice for auditions, and sleep.  If only the world would catch on.


Highs and lows of orientation:

• Low: saying my name, hometown, and major for the umpteenth time
• High: watching people’s reactions when I tell them that I’m taking introductory classes for three thoroughly unrelated majors (music, English, pre-med things)
• Low: all the competency tests and auditions for ensembles
• High: getting an email telling me I was competent at Theory and Aural Skills
• Low: stuffing 80 people into a lounge built for 20
• High: running around campus with 12 of those 80 people for a nighttime scavenger hunt

Exciting things in the future:

• 8:00 chemistry class.
• A day of service in Chicago tomorrow (and I hear there’s painting!)
• A follow-up Passage meeting-turned-slumber party at our professor’s house
• Sporting some spiffy biodegradable lab glasses at Wednesday night labs.
• Making my first foray into the dorm kitchen (in order to gradually win the affection of millions through their palates)
• Service project Monday! Advisor meetings Tuesday! Classes start Wednesday!