Halloween is a fun time. On Friday I went to a party dressed as Napoleon Dynamite, and even did the dance from the movie. I was told it was amazing by several people, some of whom I don't even know. Pictures will be forthcoming, hopefully. Of course, since I got all dressed up on Friday, I now feel as if Halloween has come and gone. I keep forgetting that it's actually tomorrow, since I don't plan to dress up again, or go trick or treating, though I have seriously considered it.
The next week will be fairly busy, but then next tuesday I will be done with everything, at least for a few weeks. Then end of classes and finals and stuff, and I'm sure there will be plenty more to do that I don't even know about yet.
Ok, I'm going to sign off and go to sleep.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
The More Things Change...
The more they seem oddly familiar.
The World Series is upon us, and I find myself rooting for the local team. As I drive around the city, I see billboards cheering them on with the words "We Believe." When I turn on the television to watch the game, I see "Go Sox" lit up in the windows of skyscrapers. The underdog is down three games to none, and once again I want to believe in the impossible.
Other things that I thought would change have also stayed the same. It's a clear Texas night in October, but the temperature right now is a chilly 46 degrees. And while the Rice Football team may indeed be a step up from that of Oberlin, which holds the record for most consecutive losses by an NCAA team, the Owls do hold the longest current losing streak. Maybe they'll erase the Yeomen from their dubious place in history.
In other news, I am once again published, albeit on the internet, so it doesn't really count. But it's a math article that is based partly on some work I did last year as part of my honors project. The proof that I was working on then was completed by Ben Purcell, a student at Oberlin, who then wrote up most of the paper. It's about playing games with binary strings! Check it out at http://www.oberlin.edu/math/Research/Burns-Purcell.pdf. You can also get there by going to the math department homepage, http://www.oberlin.edu/math, and clicking on the button for "student research," which I think is pretty cool.
The World Series is upon us, and I find myself rooting for the local team. As I drive around the city, I see billboards cheering them on with the words "We Believe." When I turn on the television to watch the game, I see "Go Sox" lit up in the windows of skyscrapers. The underdog is down three games to none, and once again I want to believe in the impossible.
Other things that I thought would change have also stayed the same. It's a clear Texas night in October, but the temperature right now is a chilly 46 degrees. And while the Rice Football team may indeed be a step up from that of Oberlin, which holds the record for most consecutive losses by an NCAA team, the Owls do hold the longest current losing streak. Maybe they'll erase the Yeomen from their dubious place in history.
In other news, I am once again published, albeit on the internet, so it doesn't really count. But it's a math article that is based partly on some work I did last year as part of my honors project. The proof that I was working on then was completed by Ben Purcell, a student at Oberlin, who then wrote up most of the paper. It's about playing games with binary strings! Check it out at http://www.oberlin.edu/math/Research/Burns-Purcell.pdf. You can also get there by going to the math department homepage, http://www.oberlin.edu/math, and clicking on the button for "student research," which I think is pretty cool.
Monday, October 24, 2005
On Kicking Back
Today I played kickball!
I felt as if I had regressed, having not played kickball since probably fifth grade. By sixth grade we didn't really have organized recess, and plus if we did it would totally not have been cool to be playing kickball. Of course, sixth grade was also the time when I started to pay far too close attention to what was "cool," and it showed when I ditched the sweatpants I loved so much in elementary school for the hip middle-school jeans and flannel shirt combo. If only I had known then how much of a failure I would be in the "being cool" department (hey, pretty, popular girl, I play the trombone and sing in the boys' choir. In any kind of competitive physical event, I am hopelessly useless, but I am quite good at math. Do you want to go out with me sometime? Oh, you need to think about it, okay, take your time. I'll just...be over here...acting cool...), then maybe I could have wasted less time trying to blend in with the crowd.
And I could have spent more time playing kickball! This would have been best, because, as I suspected but couldn't quite remember, kickball is enormously fun! I'm still somewhat useless at it, but at least most of the other people playing were not much better. We even grilled up some burgers and hot dogs for the occasion. It was the perfect activity for a perfect sunday afternoon.
Then I watched the Astros lose. Not even my second choice baseball team can win any games, it seems.
Now, to end, here is a short list of things I have learned in the past few days:
-If you're going to a bar in Houston to watch the Astros play in the World Series, you should plan to get there at least three hours early. I would recommend watching at home instead, or, if you don't have cable, at someone else's home, preferably on an HDTV. That way you can tell exactly how many days it has been since each of the players has shaved.
-Bars in Texas are required by law to have at least three deer heads or other animal heads mounted on their walls. At least, that is how it would seem.
-Best place in my neighborhood for a caesar chicken salad: Jason's Deli. On University, West of campus, across from Urban Outfitters.
-If your mother and her lover kill your father, and you spend your entire life planning your revenge on them, even if it does work in the end, you'll just die anyway. It's unclear why, and it's kind of a bummer, but that's just how it is. (Okay, I got that from an opera, but I think it's pretty good advice for us all)
I felt as if I had regressed, having not played kickball since probably fifth grade. By sixth grade we didn't really have organized recess, and plus if we did it would totally not have been cool to be playing kickball. Of course, sixth grade was also the time when I started to pay far too close attention to what was "cool," and it showed when I ditched the sweatpants I loved so much in elementary school for the hip middle-school jeans and flannel shirt combo. If only I had known then how much of a failure I would be in the "being cool" department (hey, pretty, popular girl, I play the trombone and sing in the boys' choir. In any kind of competitive physical event, I am hopelessly useless, but I am quite good at math. Do you want to go out with me sometime? Oh, you need to think about it, okay, take your time. I'll just...be over here...acting cool...), then maybe I could have wasted less time trying to blend in with the crowd.
And I could have spent more time playing kickball! This would have been best, because, as I suspected but couldn't quite remember, kickball is enormously fun! I'm still somewhat useless at it, but at least most of the other people playing were not much better. We even grilled up some burgers and hot dogs for the occasion. It was the perfect activity for a perfect sunday afternoon.
Then I watched the Astros lose. Not even my second choice baseball team can win any games, it seems.
Now, to end, here is a short list of things I have learned in the past few days:
-If you're going to a bar in Houston to watch the Astros play in the World Series, you should plan to get there at least three hours early. I would recommend watching at home instead, or, if you don't have cable, at someone else's home, preferably on an HDTV. That way you can tell exactly how many days it has been since each of the players has shaved.
-Bars in Texas are required by law to have at least three deer heads or other animal heads mounted on their walls. At least, that is how it would seem.
-Best place in my neighborhood for a caesar chicken salad: Jason's Deli. On University, West of campus, across from Urban Outfitters.
-If your mother and her lover kill your father, and you spend your entire life planning your revenge on them, even if it does work in the end, you'll just die anyway. It's unclear why, and it's kind of a bummer, but that's just how it is. (Okay, I got that from an opera, but I think it's pretty good advice for us all)
Thursday, October 20, 2005
On Hiatus
The internet once again has crashed at my aparment, so I have been without the sweet soothing wireless signal beaming around for the past week. Apparently, our phone line went dead, or was cut off for some reason, which then of course caused the modem to stop working. That was what the SBC service man told us this morning. Okay, so we should call our phone company and ask them what gives. Hey, who's our phone company again? Oh yeah, that's also SBC. So, uh, while you're here, SBC guy, uh, what gives? That's what I want to know. Thankfully, he said it should be back on by tomorrow morning. Actually, it hasn't been so bad without internet, I've gotten to the gym more often than usual, and I've made some good video game progress. I'm so glad I so productively used the time I would have otherwise wasted.
Lots of stuff coming up in school, most of which seemed a long way away until some point during the past week, when I realized it really was quite soon and I was vastly underprepared. There's a studio recital, a sub audition for the Houston Symphony (same day as the recital), a mock audition in Brass Rep class (the next day, same excerpt list at least), and I just found out about a forty minute presentation that I have to give that week in my opera class about two characters from Elektra whose names I can't even pronounce. Why did I take this class? Anyway, I'm going to be busy, but chances are I'll often be up and posting when I should be sleeping. That is, if SBC didn't lie to us again. Which is a big if.
Off to rehearsal.
Lots of stuff coming up in school, most of which seemed a long way away until some point during the past week, when I realized it really was quite soon and I was vastly underprepared. There's a studio recital, a sub audition for the Houston Symphony (same day as the recital), a mock audition in Brass Rep class (the next day, same excerpt list at least), and I just found out about a forty minute presentation that I have to give that week in my opera class about two characters from Elektra whose names I can't even pronounce. Why did I take this class? Anyway, I'm going to be busy, but chances are I'll often be up and posting when I should be sleeping. That is, if SBC didn't lie to us again. Which is a big if.
Off to rehearsal.
Friday, October 14, 2005
On Job Skills and "Qualifications"
So after reading this comic about attending class vs. not attending class, I am very confused about whether I want to attend class tomorrow morning. I probably will, though, since there's really not much else to do. Plus it would only be my second class this week, so it's definitely not asking too much that I be there. It's a funny comic, though. I especially like the phrase, "What the heck is wrong with everyone in this universe?" Brilliant.
My class this morning was cancelled due to some Jewish holiday, so what did I do to get the most out of the free time? That's right, I slept in. Then I taught high schoolers how to play the trombone, something for which I still feel that I am enormously underqualified. Is this how all teachers feel? I can't seem to escape the feeling that I'm getting paid way too much for the little work that I have to do. Basically, the first few weeks of lessons consisted of me helping these kids practice the same three pieces week in and week out. They have to learn three pieces for their Region Band auditions, which everyone in the school band has to take, for some hellish reason. They're also all required to take lessons if they're in band, which is why I get to spend five hours of my Thursday every week in a High School band room. A few of these kids could easily play the pieces, and play them well, if they would just practice, which they do not. The rest, many of them ninth graders, are desperately in need of something a little easier to start them off. I've started to bring in some new stuff for them to play, but I still feel as if I have no idea what I'm doing. Does that feeling go away eventually? Here's hoping.
Come to think of it, the only jobs I ever had where I felt as if I belonged there and was qualified for the work were as a camp counselor and a construction worker. As a counselor, I got to play with five year olds all day long, something which I am, admittedly, quite good at. And construction, at least the job I had as a laborer, means do what you're told and, otherwise, stay out of the way. For me, that meant mostly ripping up carpeting, which is a fairly mindless job. It's either still on the floor, or you already ripped it up.
Other than those two jobs, I had a stint as a tutor, mostly for math, but also for various other high school subjects. With the math I could get by, but a lot of the time I felt as if I was no help at all. That's probably not how it really was, I probably did help, but I felt like I wasn't earning my pay. The same applies for my job the past two summers as an accounting intern at a law firm. I basically sat there and performed menial office tasks when asked to, which sometimes didn't happen very often. And I was paid well for it. That was the job that taught me how to get the most out of my internet surfing. When you spend eight hours a day in front of a computer and get basically nothing accomplished, you must be an expert surfer.
So really, while it's great that I have been able to find these cushy jobs, and I feel very fortunate to be overpaid, there's often a bad feeling that goes along with that. It's the feeling that I should be doing more, that someone is paying me good money and I should be performing at a level at which I have not been performing. With the law firm, they could spare the money, but with lessons, as with tutoring, I have almost always been paid directly by the parents.
Maybe I can make it up when I have children by overpaying their music teachers.
My class this morning was cancelled due to some Jewish holiday, so what did I do to get the most out of the free time? That's right, I slept in. Then I taught high schoolers how to play the trombone, something for which I still feel that I am enormously underqualified. Is this how all teachers feel? I can't seem to escape the feeling that I'm getting paid way too much for the little work that I have to do. Basically, the first few weeks of lessons consisted of me helping these kids practice the same three pieces week in and week out. They have to learn three pieces for their Region Band auditions, which everyone in the school band has to take, for some hellish reason. They're also all required to take lessons if they're in band, which is why I get to spend five hours of my Thursday every week in a High School band room. A few of these kids could easily play the pieces, and play them well, if they would just practice, which they do not. The rest, many of them ninth graders, are desperately in need of something a little easier to start them off. I've started to bring in some new stuff for them to play, but I still feel as if I have no idea what I'm doing. Does that feeling go away eventually? Here's hoping.
Come to think of it, the only jobs I ever had where I felt as if I belonged there and was qualified for the work were as a camp counselor and a construction worker. As a counselor, I got to play with five year olds all day long, something which I am, admittedly, quite good at. And construction, at least the job I had as a laborer, means do what you're told and, otherwise, stay out of the way. For me, that meant mostly ripping up carpeting, which is a fairly mindless job. It's either still on the floor, or you already ripped it up.
Other than those two jobs, I had a stint as a tutor, mostly for math, but also for various other high school subjects. With the math I could get by, but a lot of the time I felt as if I was no help at all. That's probably not how it really was, I probably did help, but I felt like I wasn't earning my pay. The same applies for my job the past two summers as an accounting intern at a law firm. I basically sat there and performed menial office tasks when asked to, which sometimes didn't happen very often. And I was paid well for it. That was the job that taught me how to get the most out of my internet surfing. When you spend eight hours a day in front of a computer and get basically nothing accomplished, you must be an expert surfer.
So really, while it's great that I have been able to find these cushy jobs, and I feel very fortunate to be overpaid, there's often a bad feeling that goes along with that. It's the feeling that I should be doing more, that someone is paying me good money and I should be performing at a level at which I have not been performing. With the law firm, they could spare the money, but with lessons, as with tutoring, I have almost always been paid directly by the parents.
Maybe I can make it up when I have children by overpaying their music teachers.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Some Haiku
So I think something weird and unexpected has happened. I'm having a craving for some Bubble Tea. I can't fully explain it. I don't think I would particularly enjoy it once I got it, but I want a Bubble Tea nevertheless. I composed a Haiku in honor of this moment.
Late at night it comes:
Strange craving for Bubble Tea.
Please hold the snot balls.
It was Emily who likened the tapioca pearls in the tea to snot balls, and I am forever in her debt for the delightful imagery that accompanies this comparison. I was considering an alternate last line, in which case the poem would look more like this:
Late at night it comes:
Strange craving for Bubble Tea.
Tapioca Kills.
For this line, I am indebted to Brian Zeller. Of course, he and Allison did manage to ruin the mystique that I had been trying to build up around the tapioca by saying that it comes from a root. Come on, guys, I was having fun with that. I didn't want to know what it really was.
I recently read an article about Tom DeLay in Newsweek. Okay, I read most of the article, then got so mad that I think I threw the magazine across the room before I got to finish. Did you know he kept eight bull whips in his office when he was Majority Whip? Guess what state he is from. You got it! T-E-X-A-S! The stars at night are big and bright, and just when you think you've seen the bottom of the humanity barrel, this great state produces another winner like Delay. And now he's indicted on money laundering charges.
My favorite fact from the article was that DeLay has blamed school shootings like the one at Columbine High on, now read carefully or you might miss his subtle logic, day care, teen birth control, and the teaching of evolution. I mean he must be some kind of genius, right? Nobody is seriously that stupid. His brain must simply be functioning on some higher level that the rest of us can't understand. How do you get from teen birth control to Columbine? I think that was the point at which the magazine learned to fly.
Ok, sorry. I don't know what made me think of this and want to write about it. I guess since I grew up in Massachusetts, then spent five years in Oberlin of all places, and am now living in Texas, I'll need to vent from time to time. I tried to write a Haiku about the money launderer, and this is all I could come up with:
DeLay of game, five
Yard penalty, Bigoted
Texan with a whip.
Not too clever, I'll admit. I never claimed to be a poet.
I have to hand it to Houston that, for a city in Texas, it has a surprisingly lively arts scene. Tonight I saw Charles Wuorinen conduct a performance of his own piece, Ashberyana, written for Baritone voice, String Quartet, Piano, and Trombone. The guy playing trombone, Jim Pugh, is a great player from New York. He came to Rice to give a masterclass yesterday, and I got to play for him then. It was quite a good piece, and great to hear some good contemporary music again. It's one of those things Oberlin has that you just can't find most places.
Tim Weiss, CME,
Carrying four mutes at once.
I want it all back.
Late at night it comes:
Strange craving for Bubble Tea.
Please hold the snot balls.
It was Emily who likened the tapioca pearls in the tea to snot balls, and I am forever in her debt for the delightful imagery that accompanies this comparison. I was considering an alternate last line, in which case the poem would look more like this:
Late at night it comes:
Strange craving for Bubble Tea.
Tapioca Kills.
For this line, I am indebted to Brian Zeller. Of course, he and Allison did manage to ruin the mystique that I had been trying to build up around the tapioca by saying that it comes from a root. Come on, guys, I was having fun with that. I didn't want to know what it really was.
I recently read an article about Tom DeLay in Newsweek. Okay, I read most of the article, then got so mad that I think I threw the magazine across the room before I got to finish. Did you know he kept eight bull whips in his office when he was Majority Whip? Guess what state he is from. You got it! T-E-X-A-S! The stars at night are big and bright, and just when you think you've seen the bottom of the humanity barrel, this great state produces another winner like Delay. And now he's indicted on money laundering charges.
My favorite fact from the article was that DeLay has blamed school shootings like the one at Columbine High on, now read carefully or you might miss his subtle logic, day care, teen birth control, and the teaching of evolution. I mean he must be some kind of genius, right? Nobody is seriously that stupid. His brain must simply be functioning on some higher level that the rest of us can't understand. How do you get from teen birth control to Columbine? I think that was the point at which the magazine learned to fly.
Ok, sorry. I don't know what made me think of this and want to write about it. I guess since I grew up in Massachusetts, then spent five years in Oberlin of all places, and am now living in Texas, I'll need to vent from time to time. I tried to write a Haiku about the money launderer, and this is all I could come up with:
DeLay of game, five
Yard penalty, Bigoted
Texan with a whip.
Not too clever, I'll admit. I never claimed to be a poet.
I have to hand it to Houston that, for a city in Texas, it has a surprisingly lively arts scene. Tonight I saw Charles Wuorinen conduct a performance of his own piece, Ashberyana, written for Baritone voice, String Quartet, Piano, and Trombone. The guy playing trombone, Jim Pugh, is a great player from New York. He came to Rice to give a masterclass yesterday, and I got to play for him then. It was quite a good piece, and great to hear some good contemporary music again. It's one of those things Oberlin has that you just can't find most places.
Tim Weiss, CME,
Carrying four mutes at once.
I want it all back.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Not Quite a McSweeney's Review Waiting to Happen
I tried Bubble Tea for the first time today.
"Bubble Tea, like, Tea with bubbles?" I asked.
"Sort of. They're little Tapioca balls," Emily replied.
"Oh, Tapioca, okay. Wait, that sounds terrible."
"No, it's really good!"
"Nothing in my 23 years of experience in this world could possibly lead me to conclude that you are speaking the truth."
Okay, so I'm paraphrasing slightly, but you get the idea. I wasn't exactly thrilled with the prospect, but Emily, my housemate, was so keen to see my reaction to her favorite treat that I went along silently. When I entered "Tapioca Express," I half expected to see the walls lined with Jello Pudding Snacks ("Jellllooooooooooooo Pudddddinnnnnnnnnngah!" in Bill Cosby voice). Instead, I saw a menu with about a thousand choices on it, each of which was repeated in Japanese after the English, just in case I wasn't already completely confused. Emily was helpful in that she told me to choose from the "Milk Tea" options, which limited my choices significantly. I asked her what the other options were, and she seemed to have as little idea as I did. Snowball Tea? Disgusting.
There were little cups of the tapioca balls on the counter. "What is tapioca, exactly?" I asked, staring at the black spheres. The only resemblance I could find was to caviar, a substance which I definitely did not want floating in my tea. Little did I know that my question is one of those few fundamental questions which have no answer known to humankind. "Nevermind," I added quickly, fearing that the head of the girl behind the counter was about to explode. Emily ordered Thai Milk Tea, which I guess is essentially Thai Iced Tea with tapioca. I opted for Peach Milk Tea. "With Tapioca?" I was asked.
"But of course."
It was peachy, milky, pleasant at first. Then the small creatures began, of their own volition, to swim up my straw like salmon to the mating ground. I got three or four in my mouth, and before I could react I was chewing. I was drinking and chewing. Remember in grade school when you would try really hard to get good at patting your head and rubbing your stomach at the same time? This is that feeling in beverage form. The tapioca didn't really taste like anything, and wasn't all that unpleasant, just strange and foreign. Overall, it was good. But this is the craze sweeping the nation? Tapioca in your frikkin' tea? I'll believe it when Starbucks starts putting Tapioca in their Frappucinos.
Headline of tomorrow: Starbucks 'Tappucino' Number One Beverage in the Country, in part due to new "I'd Tap That!" ad campaign. In other news, 'Tapiocum' added to Periodic Table of Elements as part of latest efforts to solve the riddle of the origins of Tapioca.
I've decided to be Napoleon Dynamite for Halloween. I already have the "Vote for Pedro" shirt. If anyone has any suggestions for where I can get some boots or glasses, please let me know. Apparently, Halloween is a pretty big deal here at Rice, and I don't want to disappoint with a half-ass costume.
I read this comic a long time ago and loved it, and I just found it again and laughed just as hard. I thought I would share.
OK Bye!
"Bubble Tea, like, Tea with bubbles?" I asked.
"Sort of. They're little Tapioca balls," Emily replied.
"Oh, Tapioca, okay. Wait, that sounds terrible."
"No, it's really good!"
"Nothing in my 23 years of experience in this world could possibly lead me to conclude that you are speaking the truth."
Okay, so I'm paraphrasing slightly, but you get the idea. I wasn't exactly thrilled with the prospect, but Emily, my housemate, was so keen to see my reaction to her favorite treat that I went along silently. When I entered "Tapioca Express," I half expected to see the walls lined with Jello Pudding Snacks ("Jellllooooooooooooo Pudddddinnnnnnnnnngah!" in Bill Cosby voice). Instead, I saw a menu with about a thousand choices on it, each of which was repeated in Japanese after the English, just in case I wasn't already completely confused. Emily was helpful in that she told me to choose from the "Milk Tea" options, which limited my choices significantly. I asked her what the other options were, and she seemed to have as little idea as I did. Snowball Tea? Disgusting.
There were little cups of the tapioca balls on the counter. "What is tapioca, exactly?" I asked, staring at the black spheres. The only resemblance I could find was to caviar, a substance which I definitely did not want floating in my tea. Little did I know that my question is one of those few fundamental questions which have no answer known to humankind. "Nevermind," I added quickly, fearing that the head of the girl behind the counter was about to explode. Emily ordered Thai Milk Tea, which I guess is essentially Thai Iced Tea with tapioca. I opted for Peach Milk Tea. "With Tapioca?" I was asked.
"But of course."
It was peachy, milky, pleasant at first. Then the small creatures began, of their own volition, to swim up my straw like salmon to the mating ground. I got three or four in my mouth, and before I could react I was chewing. I was drinking and chewing. Remember in grade school when you would try really hard to get good at patting your head and rubbing your stomach at the same time? This is that feeling in beverage form. The tapioca didn't really taste like anything, and wasn't all that unpleasant, just strange and foreign. Overall, it was good. But this is the craze sweeping the nation? Tapioca in your frikkin' tea? I'll believe it when Starbucks starts putting Tapioca in their Frappucinos.
Headline of tomorrow: Starbucks 'Tappucino' Number One Beverage in the Country, in part due to new "I'd Tap That!" ad campaign. In other news, 'Tapiocum' added to Periodic Table of Elements as part of latest efforts to solve the riddle of the origins of Tapioca.
I've decided to be Napoleon Dynamite for Halloween. I already have the "Vote for Pedro" shirt. If anyone has any suggestions for where I can get some boots or glasses, please let me know. Apparently, Halloween is a pretty big deal here at Rice, and I don't want to disappoint with a half-ass costume.
I read this comic a long time ago and loved it, and I just found it again and laughed just as hard. I thought I would share.
OK Bye!
Saturday, October 08, 2005
1000 Hits!
The milestone has been reached, one thousand hits since I added the hit counter. This is obviously a big day for me, I'm sure you all understand.
In other news, it's Friday, officially the beginning of Fall Break, though it's only four days long (including weekend days), which is not much of a break. Plus I'm playing in a masterclass on Monday, so I'm still fairly busy. No break for me!
So a Friday night was spent at bars, first at the Armadillo Palace, which has, I swear to God, a huge freaking armadillo statue out front. The inside is no less tacky, with various deer heads, bull horns, saddles, etcetera, littering the walls. There was a five dollar cover to go in and listen to a pretty good country band. Then we moved to the Ginger Man, where we found quite a few music school people. Now I'm back home, and my housemates are both gone, which means a Friday night alone.
One ex-girlfriend called me tonight, and another sent an email about sending invitations to her wedding this summer. Oh yeah, she's engaged. Pretty strange, if you ask me. Anyway, I think I'm going to crash. Just wanted to celebrate the thousand visits, even though most of them were automated programs trying to post comments advertising porn or something like that. Still, keep reading, and keep those hits going.
Go Astros.
In other news, it's Friday, officially the beginning of Fall Break, though it's only four days long (including weekend days), which is not much of a break. Plus I'm playing in a masterclass on Monday, so I'm still fairly busy. No break for me!
So a Friday night was spent at bars, first at the Armadillo Palace, which has, I swear to God, a huge freaking armadillo statue out front. The inside is no less tacky, with various deer heads, bull horns, saddles, etcetera, littering the walls. There was a five dollar cover to go in and listen to a pretty good country band. Then we moved to the Ginger Man, where we found quite a few music school people. Now I'm back home, and my housemates are both gone, which means a Friday night alone.
One ex-girlfriend called me tonight, and another sent an email about sending invitations to her wedding this summer. Oh yeah, she's engaged. Pretty strange, if you ask me. Anyway, I think I'm going to crash. Just wanted to celebrate the thousand visits, even though most of them were automated programs trying to post comments advertising porn or something like that. Still, keep reading, and keep those hits going.
Go Astros.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
I Hate (read: Love) Baseball
There was a point during the 2004 ALCS at which I gave up all hope. I forgot the wise words of Yogi Berra and decided that the Red Sox season was, in fact, over before it was over. There was only one more loss in the next four games against the Yankees between my beloved team and another frustrated offseason. I sat in the Feve that night in Oberlin (oh, Feve, how I miss you), drank scotch whiskey and wondered aloud where I was going to get enough money for all the alcohol that I would need to get through yet another year of my hopes and dreams being crushed by the Damn Yankees.
The next day, the Sox won. Then the next, and after two more wins, they were in the World Series. It was a wonderful time, but I will always regret that one moment at which I had officially and completely given up on my team. Just as Saint Peter had denied his friendship with Jesus, I threw off all affiliation with a team that I thought was done for. Then the cock crowed, the prophecy was fulfilled, after 86 years without a ring the woes of the '86 team were put to rest, 1918+24(Manny Ramirez)+34(David Ortiz)+33(Jason Varitek)-5(no more Nomar Garciaparra)=2004, and on a night when the moon was red, the Red Sox were World Champions. It was then that I realized the error of my ways.
So again I am faced with a choice. The Sox have dropped 2 straight in abysmal fashion to their White counterparts, and are one loss in the next three games away from elimination. And that's before even getting the honor of being beaten silly by the Yankees. I could give up now, go to a bar (sadly, not the Feve), and drink to next season. But I won't. These damn guys keep me holding on to the bitter end. They've done it before, they could come back. Two games at Fenway, then in game five anything could happen. So go on, keep prolonging the agony, boys, because that's baseball. And I love it (read: hate it).
The next day, the Sox won. Then the next, and after two more wins, they were in the World Series. It was a wonderful time, but I will always regret that one moment at which I had officially and completely given up on my team. Just as Saint Peter had denied his friendship with Jesus, I threw off all affiliation with a team that I thought was done for. Then the cock crowed, the prophecy was fulfilled, after 86 years without a ring the woes of the '86 team were put to rest, 1918+24(Manny Ramirez)+34(David Ortiz)+33(Jason Varitek)-5(no more Nomar Garciaparra)=2004, and on a night when the moon was red, the Red Sox were World Champions. It was then that I realized the error of my ways.
So again I am faced with a choice. The Sox have dropped 2 straight in abysmal fashion to their White counterparts, and are one loss in the next three games away from elimination. And that's before even getting the honor of being beaten silly by the Yankees. I could give up now, go to a bar (sadly, not the Feve), and drink to next season. But I won't. These damn guys keep me holding on to the bitter end. They've done it before, they could come back. Two games at Fenway, then in game five anything could happen. So go on, keep prolonging the agony, boys, because that's baseball. And I love it (read: hate it).
Monday, October 03, 2005
Sox Win!!!
Well, the weekend has come and gone, and I have to say it was a relative success. I played two concerts on Friday and Saturday with the Shepherd School Symphony Orchestra (the acronym of SSSO doesn't really sound any better), and I was largely tuned in as the Red Sox took two of three from the Yankees and became AL Wild Card Champs. Today's game was on at Two Rows, a bar near campus, where Sundays just happen to be $1 draft days. Nothing beats a Sunday afternoon with cheap beer and a win for the Sox.
Other than that, it was kind of a lazy weekend, which is the way I like it. I have to say, though, that it seems strange to me that it is already October. I mean, the high temperature each day is consistently around 90. I guess this is what counts as Fall in Texas. Maybe during the coldest part of winter I'll stop sweating whenever I go outside.
Ok, bed time. I still have five days to get through before my next lazy weekend.
Other than that, it was kind of a lazy weekend, which is the way I like it. I have to say, though, that it seems strange to me that it is already October. I mean, the high temperature each day is consistently around 90. I guess this is what counts as Fall in Texas. Maybe during the coldest part of winter I'll stop sweating whenever I go outside.
Ok, bed time. I still have five days to get through before my next lazy weekend.
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