NaBloPoMo, Day 6

Well, we've re-elected our president, and honestly, I'm neither thrilled nor concerned. I know, I know, voting is important, and politics and government matter, but when my daily life in almost 20 years of living hasn't been obviously affected by the party in office, it's hard to make myself care. And in any case, all of the history teachers I've had have said something to the effect of "most politicians start out far left or far right and become more and more moderate as elections and terms progress." So here we are, I'm ignorant, I'm apathetic, and in this area, that's OK with me. (I know, it shouldn't be OK with me, but it is, and I'm not pushing it.)

Note to family: don't even want to hear how politically ignorant I am. I know.

NaBloPoMo, Day 5: Winners.

I have a friend named Darby who plays the piano, and she played in the concerto competition tonight. She did not win, but if you ask me, she should have. (Note: the guy who did win is entirely deserving, but you root for your friends, case closed.) Here's why:

• I don't like listening to classical music, much less piano concerti. But I could listen to her piece all day.
• It's very easily solfeged, and very stickinyourheadable.
• It's just so preeeetty. (This isn't her, but it'll give you an idea.)
• You can tell it's hard, but she makes it seem easy and doesn't even seem to get all bogged down in the technicality of it all (even though she's acutely aware of exactly what needs to happen when).
• She doesn't have the whole arrogance thing going on. That's always a plus.

All this to say, there is still hope for me in the world of listening to classical music. Because if she can make it manageable, that means it's not a me-flaw that I don't like going to concerts and listening to all that, it's a them-flaw. And pinning things on other people is a great life strategy, no? 

NaBloPoMo, Day 4

Muffins are often misunderstood. For a long time, I misunderstood them, but I'd now like to think I understand them properly. Mainly, I know that they are not cupcakes. They don't have to be as sweet as cupcakes, and they shouldn't be as tender as cupcakes. They don't have to be as uniform in texture as cupcakes. They don't have to be healthy, but it's not bad for them to have some nutrition.

A muffin should have a hearty crumb. Ideally, it would have a crispy-crackly top or outer layer with a softer, but still chewy, interior. You should be able to taste what kind of flour you use. Butter or oil should make a difference.

Yes, I know, it sounds like some weirdo health freak baker talking, but it's true. When you go for a muffin, you at least want to think you're eating something semi-nutritious, whether you realize it or not. Peaches are nice, but they're even better when you throw a little ginger in there. Rye flour does something nice to pumpkin and banana. I put rosemary and fig butter in my oatmeal the other day, and those flavors would make a nice muffin.

Everything you've been doing with your muffins is great. Make muffins you like. But just know that if I'm your muffin man, you'll be getting something faintly sweet, hearty, unassuming. All great qualities, in muffins and in people.

NaBloPoMo, Day 3

And I accomplished all my goals. I slept, I practiced, I baked. It was lovely. I hope to do it again soon. Also, crafts.

But I can't just leave a whole post at that. Instead, here are a few thoughts on the little show I'm working on:

• There is essentially no plot. Blame: Frances Hodgson Burnett
• Instead, we look at pretty costumes and exciting people and see how both change over the course of two hours.
• We're about as loyal to the original script as I am to this blog when it's not November.
• Ditto for the score.
• I have the job of handing an actor a stick from the pit in the middle of "Final Storm." Tonight, I realized during the prologue that the stick was missing. I whisper to our music director. He texts the stage manager. The stage manager tells the director, who finds his way backstage to tell one of the cast members, who then mimes to me from the other side of the stage that she will be bringing the stick over, and would I like to receive it over the top of my stand or under my keyboard. With great purpose, she comes onstage for her scene change, slides the stick under the keyboard, and moves the panel she was originally slated to move. A well-oiled machine. 
• I have issues with the show as a piece (namely, with the music; blame: Lucy Simon), but I am quite fond of the people in our production.

Maybe more later, maybe not. Go change those clocks - it'll be the best thing that happens to you while you're sleeping.

NaBloPoMo, Day 2

Much has been accomplished today: I had a conducting evaluation, I helped paint the floor of the theater black, I stirred some polyurethane, I got back a midterm that was labeled with a shockingly high mark, the official opening night of Secret Garden happened (and we sold out the run of the show today), and I spread my little social butterfly wings and ended up at TGIFriday's (heaven help us all) with a whole slew of theatrical people well past midnight. And now I'm preparing myself for a nice two-and-a-half hour sleep before doing a little Fischer 3 pranktime.

It's the days like these when exhaustion doesn't quite register because everything's been so fast and fun that you forget you're supposed to be tired. You forget that you haven't been in the room with your roommate for about a week when one of you wasn't sleeping. And come the end of tomorrow night's show, I'll remind myself of all this, and we'll do some catching up. I'll get reacquainted with my bed, but also with the practice rooms, and maybe even the kitchen. Maybe? Maybe. But I guess I'll keep you posted on all that.

NaBloPoMo?

Welcome to November. Chances are really good I'll fail miserably at this, given how hectic this month promises to be, but it's worth a shot, I think. And because I'm in the time of day where focusing isn't quite practical, we're going with the bullets:

• This post doesn't have to be anything special because it's just November 1. I totally deserve an introduction post.
• Tonight marks the first of eight performances of The Secret Garden with an audience. (I'm in ze pit.) It's kind of exciting.
• Because I don't always get a minute to sit down at the computer (to do things like whip out a little blog post) until well into the night-time hours, posts in the wee hours of the morning definitely count for the day before. Don't even try to tell me they don't.
• There are two girls on my floor who qualify in my book as absolutely insane, and they're hilarious for it. They make music videos every evening, and my friend and I popped into one the other night. Just a day in the life.
• While there's little chance I'll actually post every day in November, there's even less of a chance these posts will be substantial, clever, entertaining, or otherwise worth your time. Sorry about that, but it's just the way it is.

Anticipation

I'm writing from a place I've never written from before. I'm not even speaking metaphorically. I mean that my friend Abby and I are hiding out in the bathroom of two girls on my floor. Note that it's 1 a.m., and they're currently on their way back from a movie. We will be surprising them. It'll be a great time. And we're so excited. We also did a mini photo shoot while we waited.

Plans:

• We will wait until we hear laughter. (We left them a cute set of notes on their marker board, so we expect a response as our alert signal.)
• We will wait until we see the light turn on in the room.
• We will quietly pack up our computers and get ready.
• We will welcome them to their own room with much volume and fanfare.
• If we miss our opportunity, we will wait in the bathroom until they come in. Just hangin'.

Moral of the story: don't leave your door open when you're not home.

Disclaimer: they love and adore us and are also far creepier than us, which is the only reason this is OK.