Sweet Green Icing

2011-05-13T20:56:00.001-07:00

I'm lonely because I'm too tired to go out. I can't sleep because I'm lonely. It's not a great way to be. My dad is coming up tomorrow to see me "graduate" from the teaching credential program. It should be a really nice day. But I have to do some laundry or something. And I sure hope he and my mentor teacher get a chance to meet.

2011-03-07T21:32:00.000-08:00

Well, I had a really great week and a half enjoying the benefits of having exercised for six weeks, and then I had to ruin it with my emotions. So now I'm back to nothing. I haven't really exercised in about a month (except that bike ride in Folsom). Walking does not count, even if it is for two miles. Agh. I just can't even start anymore. I get up and think, "This time, maybe I can!" And then I don't. Mostly because it's raining. Big deal? I guess it is to my morning self. And I'm just too woozy in the morning to handle yoga.

Someday I will have a job where I won't have to do more of my job when I get home. I can have work be done at work, and then I can use my non-committal time to do things for myself. Like exercise. And cook fancy meals, which I already do because it's my form of procrastination. "Sorry I didn't work on my teacher research project. I had to cook dinner for two hours, and then eat it, and then it was bedtime."

Overall I am finally starting to feel okay with my progress as a student teacher. By okay, I mean not freaking out over a competency test that I was a year late in completing. Because that's done and it was good. And the Solo and Ensemble festival was amazing. I helped to run it yesterday because my mentor teacher was in charge of it. I "hired" a team of helpers to set up, make the event flow, and clean up after. It was a crazy day, but I think I'm finally starting to see my future. I can run an event. I can help to facilitate real musical growth, and not just by teaching.

I sure wish I had the capacity to start exercising again, though. Even so little as it being sunny outside could help with that. Letting the days get longer...go, earth, go.

1,059 miles

2011-02-27T13:08:00.000-08:00

There are things I should be doing, but I can't do them. I don't know why. This week has been fantastic, but hardly revitalizing. I had the week off from school for President's Week and I decided to do some traveling and get some things done. See people. Take a break from thinking and worrying. And it worked! Kind of.

I went down on Sunday. I stayed at my mom's house in Placerville and hung out with them. I brought all of my perishables--why let them go bad in the fridge? And why spend money on food on the road when I already had some? So those lasted me, um, about two days. I was tired as hell, but I spent some nice quality time with my mom. Also did on Monday, because I was waiting for contact from my camp (didn't get any). Max Brown did the complete tune-up on my bike. Then I went to Rocklin, remembered how much I absolutely hate Rocklin and Roseville, to visit my sister Megan.

The reason I hate those towns is that there is so much stuff to buy, but nothing to do. Your function, if you live there, is to buy things and play with your things, and then buy more things. I hate it. But my sister lives there (with creepy roommates who don't talk to me). We went to an arcade, which was really fun but unnecessarily expensive. Then we watched Grey's Anatomy, which is a show I hate because it's such a downer and the women characters whine too much, but Megan wanted to watch it. I don't really consider watching TV with someone quality time, but it's okay because we did have some good, honest moments.

On Tuesday I made plans to have dinner with my camp director (my boss for the summer). I also had my first filling ever. Weird! I can still kind of feel where the shot of Novocaine was. It looks really good, but now that one tooth is way whiter than all the ones around it. Not that anyone's looking back there in my mouth...I couldn't find anything else to do in Auburn so I went down to Folsom so I could practice riding my bike. I went on the trail Max and I went on on my birthday. It was hard to go so fast at first. The trail came to a fork, and I turned right. It was mostly uphill, which was hard. A half mile in, I turned around and kept going after the fork. I went for 3 miles. I definitely broke through a wall of some kind. I turned around, 3 miles back. Then I biked back to my car. I don't know what that distance was, but I would guess my total distance was at least 8 miles. I felt like a rock star. I had some food in my car, and I gave myself a picnic in the parking lot. I also stretched my legs a lot. (Though that's hard to do in jeans.)

I spent the rest of the day wandering around old town Folsom. I looked at all of the things in all of the stores, but didn't bring my wallet because I didn't want to buy anything. It was awesome. Then I went to see where the place was where my boss wanted to meet me. Turns out it was on the other side of town, in this huge place with a Borders, Old Navy, Ross, Marshall's...lots of stores. I had about two hours to kill so I went into Borders and found some CSET and RICA study guides, and read a little bit about what those tests are about. They seem tough. But if I can pass those, I can get a multi-subject elementary credential.

During dinner, my friend (the one I was crushing on for about a year) called me. "Did you know there was no Eureka Symphony tonight?...I showed up...I feel like an asshole!...What do you do for lunch at your school, would you like me to bring some in for you?" He probably talked to me for about 5 minutes before I could tell him that I was in a meeting and out of town. I realized on my way back how much I talked about him to the people I was with--just how I appreciated his friendship so much, that he made me a delicious lunch and delivered it to me at my school, and how he called me after I decided to stop playing with the brass band. I really love that person. Not in a weird way, either. I just have an overwhelming appreciation for our friendship.

The next day I spent working at the Girl Scout council office in Sac. That place is awesome! I spent a good amount of time putting some of the CIT work schedule together. (About 6 hours, I think.) After that I went to Auburn to meet with my good friend Megan. (Different person than my sister Megan.) We talked for quite awhile in Starbucks. We went to go bowling, but didn't know it was league night. So then we thought about seeing a movie...looked at things playing in Auburn and Roseville and couldn't find anything we really wanted to see. So then we decided to go for some $3 margaritas at Chevy's. Perfect! They weren't very alcoholic at all. That's okay. (What kind of weird town are you in when you can't even find a bar to drink at? Stupid Roseville!)

On Thursday I started my trip to the Bay Area. My plan was to meet one of the other assistant camp directors in Berkeley, and then hang out with my sister Janet in San Francisco. I also left earlier than I'd expected to evade driving in the crazy snowstorm that was coming. About an hour into my trip, my friend in Berkeley called and said she had to work that night and forgot about it until just then. I said that's okay, we'll just meet tomorrow. So then I had to get a hold of Janet and figure out what her schedule was. I was about in Fairfield when I felt like I was severely lacking in protein, so I stopped at a Safeway for awhile. I was waiting for Janet to text me back, and drinking some coffee, when an older gentleman started talking to me. He gave me a Jehovah's Witness pamphlet which I politely rejected. We had a really engaging conversation for about an hour after that. We talked about the environment, consumption, and open-mindedness in people.

Eventually I got a text from Janet and left the Fairfield Safeway. I met her on a street in Oakland in the fancy part of town where her school is. She showed me around her incredibly fancy school campus and I went in the library and read about sociology for music teachers for a few hours. Then I found a book called "Which 'Aesthetics' Do You Mean?" and read half of it. Amazing. I found the explanation for how I experience the world, and it's called Aesthetics.

After Janet's classes were over, we took the BART to her place in San Francisco. (I left my car parked on the fancy Oakland street because my bike and a violin belonging to HSU were in there, and I did not want my car broken into, or spend an hour searching for parking in the city.) We didn't go out or anything, which I was completely okay with because I was tired. We just hung out with her roommates, drank some Great White which had been sitting in my fridge for months (so I brought it with me on my trip), and watched Pee-Wee's Playhouse. Janet's roommate has an adorable orange kitten. The cutest little thing in the freaking world. I played with her...that was nice to see a kitten after not seeing my cat for 5 days.

I woke up on Friday with my throat extremely irritated. I drank all the water left in my bottle. It wasn't a good sign, though. I dressed and packed up, and made my own way back to the BART. I contemplated people, particularly city people and how they looked vs. how I looked. I couldn't really figure it out. My bright turquoise backpack may have given me away as an out-of-towner. Or the fact that my jacket was brown and not black. Or the fact that nothing I was wearing was black. I ate the rest of my blueberries and some of my almonds. I walked back from the station to my van. It was completely unscathed. Good call, me. Then I learned that my friend in Berkeley was only about 7 minutes away from where I was parked.

I met up with her and it was so nice to catch up! We talked about camp, both as people and as assistant camp directors. I had only expected to be there for one or two hours, but we were on such a roll that I stayed for four hours. She even skipped her class to keep working. It was unexpectedly beautiful outside, especially after how dreary it was in the city, before I went underground to the BART station. By the end, my feet were numb. When I left at 2:30 I could feel I was going downhill fast. And I forgot about the toll on the bridge. So I stopped in a town called Crockett, literally feet before the bridge, that I never knew existed, so I could pull some cash from the ATM. I took $20 out and paid the toll like a good person who plans.

I drove for about 3 hours, and the sun was in my eyes, and my throat was bugging me incessantly so I stopped in Windsor. I knew there was a Starbucks there somewhere. I found one and asked for a smoothie. I needed sustenance, and to stop being in motion for a bit, and for the sun to go away. The world was feeling very intense at the moment.

I knew my cheapest place for gas would be the Safeway in Willits, so I stopped again when I got there. By this time it was snowing a little bit on me. I reached for my debit card in my wallet. No card. Checked my pockets, jacket, pants. Nothing. (I'd left it in the ATM four hours before!) I didn't have the energy to freak out, so I just paid for gas with the $11 cash I had left and hoped it was enough to get me to Arcata. And that my van could retain enough heat so I wouldn't be dying of intense cold-ness by the end.

And you know what? It sucked. It was 3.5 hours of pure torture. Snow, cold, an hour of the gas light shining in my dashboard. Feeling like I might throw up or pass out most of the time. Wondering what friend could pick me up and bring me home if somehow my car couldn't make it all the way. (I thought about one friend a lot. That guy friend, of course. I wondered what the extent of his caring for me was.)

Much to my pleasant surprise, I made it. I actually made back alive. With my entire car. The shock of the cold air to my system when I opened my car door made me intensely nauseous. I didn't throw up because there was nothing in there. My house was freezing and my cat yelled at me. I turned the heater on, brought in my backpack and computer, took off my pants and didn't bother searching for other pajama pants, and went to bed. I was super sick. I slept for 12 hours straight.

Right now I still feel kind of raw in my throat, and dizzy and weird. But I'm feeling better now. I just wish the trip didn't have to end like that. Other than those last 7 hours, it was a really nice trip. I have to do some stuff to make up for my complete lack of doing stuff this week. That's unfortunate. I was really planning on being some kind of productive. Really, though, how could I? I feel like I'm behind in a few different places. But I need to consider what my mentor teacher says. I'm really not behind. I'm really on it, and responsible, and I'm way too hard on myself. It's just that I know I can do better. Few and far between are the occasions where I really put in 100%, come up short of what was expected, and feel okay with that.

Tomorrow, I don't know what I'm doing. I have to be ready.

Stephy

2011-02-13T16:21:00.000-08:00

Last week was weird. Sooo weird. I didn't observe on Monday because the vocal/general teacher was sick. Then on Tuesday, my mentor teacher called me in the morning telling me her sons were sick, and I needed to sub that day. That was a really tough day. The beginners were really distracted in their sectionals, and that was tough to deal with. My mentor teacher came back in time for jazz combo at the end, so that was nice. It was an exhausting day.

On Wednesday, my mentor teacher came in a bit later than me. Wednesday is a pretty slow day, only concert/intermediate bands and the low brass sectional. She and her husband had worked out a deal for watching the kids 50/50. Naturally she had to leave as I was teaching the sectional, and nothing got done there. (Only 4 kids. How is every single one so unfocused?)

I also, sorry to say this on the internet, started my period on Wednesday. Because of the stress involved in subbing and the intensity of this credential program, I was an emotional wreck when I got home. I was in an excruciating amount of pain, and instead of prepping for Thursday's world music class, cried on the floor of my living room for 2 hours. (I laid a blanket out first. I now call it my crying blanket.) I sipped tea with the hope that something warm in my belly would make the pain go away, but that just made me nauseous. I went to bed at 8:30 thinking even if I woke up super early to prep for my class, I at least wouldn't be crazy tired because I'd have gotten over 8 hours of sleep.

Somewhere around 1:30am I woke up to the booming soundtrack of a psychological thriller movie from the 70's. My upstairs neighbors put it on and I could hear it through my ceiling. It was very loud. My other neighbor, the one next door to the people directly above me, apparently thought so too because it turned off about 10 minutes later. At this point I would like to mention that I am a very light sleeper, and also probably have insomnia. And I was so angry that they woke me up, I couldn't go back to sleep for at least 2 1/2 more hours. Seriously. Who the fuck does that?

So I woke up on Thursday having had less than 7 hours of sleep, which might not sound like a big deal, but I had been banking on getting those hours so I could at least feel somewhat like a functioning human being that day. I told my mentor teacher about my terrible night and how physically and emotionally raw I felt. She commented on how frustrating it is that we (women) really have absolutely no control over emotions sometimes. And that times really seemed hard for me right now.

She also told me to wash my hands frequently that day, because she'd got it. We had the beginning band jeopardy game, which was fun, intermediate band, which was exhausting, and world music. My class was really fun, and a little chaotic. It was finally time for my aesthetic experience scavenger hunt!

Then I had class for two hours, then a beer for dinner with other credential candidates I hadn't seen in over a week, and then brass band for two hours. A 13-hour day I really wished I'd had a full night of sleep for. Then I got the e-mail from my mentor teacher--the one saying she was way too sick to work tomorrow, and even though it's a full day, can I handle it all on my own? I said yes, but we'd have to re-schedule world music again because it was just too much to do all at once.

At 11pm, I finally got home and started on the mountain of dishes in my kitchen before working on the practice journals. Suddenly I realized I'd completely forgotten about my VELR (video taped lesson for me and my supervisor to talk about), and I was already a week past the time I was supposed to have it done. I hadn't even tried to acquire a video camera at all. I had to drop what I was doing and lie on my crying blanket for awhile. It never really stopped after that. I went to bed at 1am.

On Friday when I subbed again, it was really for the most part. (The middle school band kids are very focused and sweet, and worked independently really well.) At 4 I dropped off a big folder of stuff that my mentor teacher had dropped off to me in the morning, back to her at her house. We talked about the day and what I got done and how the kids were. Then she said, "Stephanie, I'm concerned about you."

I said, "Really? How come?" She said that I'm doing an excellent job student teaching, but she was worried about me as a person. That when I tell her about how long and intense my emotional episodes are it's really a cause for concern. And then we talked for a really, really long time, and I cried a lot. She said I sounded very depressed, and asked me if I'd ever thought about getting counseling. I said I really wanted to last year--that I knew I really needed help, but I couldn't muster up the time or energy to go to the clinic. "Well, what if I went with you?" she said. "We could go together, and figure out what a good fit might be for you." So we made up a time to meet on Monday, when she doesn't work. I told her how moved I was that she would do this for me. She said I'm worth it. And that going into counseling was one of the best decisions she'd ever made for herself.

And now, on the other side of the weekend, I've been feeling really strange. Like I've been exposed and my energy is leaking out, and my body's trying to make up for it. I've been consistently dizzy since the week began. My brain is at a loss for thoughts and I just sporadically cry in 10-minute episodes. My brain tricked me last weekend. I thought everything was right and good with the world, and then emotions took over.

I'm nervous for tomorrow. Partly because I've never been to counseling and I'll probably cry for most of it. And partly because Task 2 for PACT is due and I've barely even started it. I'm finding it hard to get through because my mind is so tired. I may just try and do it all tonight and submit it in the morning.

Stephy

Bread of my Dreams

2011-02-05T12:13:00.000-08:00

Once again, may I say that I love my mentor teacher, she is my hero in life, and I am the luckiest student teacher ever. And my mom was right when I was 16 and she told me I have a charmed life. I am overwhelmed by the ways I am fortunate. Typing that sentence out made me cry a little bit. Not in a sad way.

I haven't been journaling for the last two weeks. But it's been a really important 2 weeks for me! I'm a different person now.

Here are some things.

I got a bike! From a lady off Craigslist! For $60. It's Barbie-shoe purple. (Actually her brunette friend Teresa wears purple, so it's Teresa-shoe purple.) And. I rode it around yesterday and figured out that the brakes really severely need adjustments, as do the cables that make the chain shift to a lower gear. But, I also figured that out all by myself. And I figured out the things I should do to change this. This will happen. I will ride to Freshwater.
I substitute-taught last week for the first time. It wasn't so bad! The kids were really nice. (They also knew me already, but whatever.) I will eventually get money for doing this.
I've discovered the bread of my dreams. Shut up. It takes me minutes to decide what bread to get every time I buy bread. "Classic Light Bread" is only $3, organic, and the only ingredients are water, whole wheat flour, yeast, salt, and oats. And it is freakin' delicious, and substantial, and chewy.
My concert black pants are now comfortable again.
I'm arranging "Summertime" by Gershwin for the jazz combo at the school where I'm student teaching. It will be epic and specific to the needs of that group.
I got my summer dream job--assistant camp director in charge of all-camp programs and leadership. And they even changed it around so it's built specifically for my strengths. It feels damn good to have skills people want so much they'll change a job description for you.
I get financial aid after all. Because my mom was denied for a parent loan. And it's way more than I've ever received before. Suck it, HSU. I am legit. (Why would you think my parents have money if I have two sisters, and a mom, who are all also students?)

The Depot is now playing "Be a Man" from Mulan. Life is good, and everything will be okay, and I love that there is a mentor in my life who believes in me, validates me in my weak moments, and works with me every day at the coolest job in the world, being a music teacher.

Better go get ready for the Eureka Symphony concert!

Stephy

On plans that seem really awesome and doable but don't actually turn out to be

2011-01-10T18:27:00.001-08:00

I am now in my second week of student teaching at Freshwater School. It's amazing. I have the best mentor ever. The kids are super nice and there's tons of creative freedom.

The only problem with it is that it's located 8 miles away from my house. I can't walk there. I have to drive.

Here are the alternatives to driving somewhere daily:

1. Take the bus. Except no buses go there.
2. Carpool. I wish. I tried. My mentor also lives in Arcata but she has kids that are stressful to get ready in the morning so I can't ride with her. The other student teacher at that school lives in Samoa, on the opposite side of the school, so that's out.
3. Bike there. Hmm. There's a possibility. Putting aside time to exercise as it gets me to a place I need to be? Count me in! And I'd be so hardcore, biking to work! I probably wouldn't go the whole way. I would probably park in Sunny Brae, after the big giant hills, and proceed up and down the moderate hills to Freshwater. Okay, I thought. This could work.

Or so I thought. Because I don't actually have a bike. I used to. But I didn't use it. So I kind of (stupidly) left it in a place where it could easily be stolen because I figured it wouldn't be such a loss. (I'd gotten it for free from my first roommate.)

But wait, said my smart brain. Maybe I can rent a bike!

My friend said, "Yeah, try the bike library!" I said, "Didn't that close like three years ago?" He said, "I don't think it did!" I said, "Well, I'll try to go there then."

It sure didn't look open to me. It looked like a rusty shed with bike wheels everywhere. Then I went to the bike shop. I said, "Do you guys rent bikes?" The guy said, "Not this time of the year. And we only rent bikes out for tours. Nobody around here rents bikes." And then he decided to condescendingly state that the bikes at that shop run upwards of $390. Thanks for rubbing it in that I shouldn't be there, friend.

That was highly disappointing because I'd spent about two hours walking around, combing the blocks of Arcata trying to find the bike library. (At least that, plus running in the frost at 6am this morning for 15 minutes, means I got the exercise I wanted today?) And just to find that there's no place I can deposit $30 for the use of a bike for 6 months.

Oh wait, I can just buy a bike. Oh wait, no I can't. The whole purpose of not driving was to save on gas. And save the air. But it looks like I lose and am trapped in the cycle of environmental irresponsibility, no pun intended.

Maybe if I'm really lucky I'll find a friend of a friend with a decent bike they're not using. But I'm not getting my hopes up. What a disappointing day indeed.

2011-01-01T17:31:00.001-08:00

As much as I don't want to start 2011 with a blog of hate, I just want to say that I hate the loneliness of breaks. Every day this week I've been waking up, eating breakfast, going somewhere with Internet, eating lunch, texting five or six friends to see if they're in town yet and if they want to hang out, and only getting responses from people who aren't in town yet. Am I really that boring? I've been getting a lot of exercise, though, walking probably at least 3 miles every day for the past few days.

I spent New Years with people in the credential program. I had no idea everyone was so close-knit. I don't know how they found the time and energy to get that way. It was pretty fun, though. I got a free beer at Humbrews just for having a trumpet with me, that was cool. And we danced for about two hours.

I just wish people would call me back when I leave a message asking if they're free to make dinner tonight! I feel like I'm texting and talking to nobody. I only have two days left of my break and I want to see people before I'm forced to only see children every day for 18 weeks.

Wah, grumpy, wah. I think I'll go put that Greek yogurt in the fridge now.

Stephy

On filters and juries

2010-12-14T19:08:00.000-08:00

I have to keep going. I must, I must.

I had two ideas about filters today:

The first is that my affective filter is very high right now. I don't want to do anything. Therefore I can't do anything. My body hurts and my brain hurts, and somewhere out there people think I'm great and will pull strings to get me jobs. (My supervisor and mentor teacher told me this today.) Mentally, sure, I think that's possible. But my affective filter is so high right now I really cannot see anything about myself that is good. And then my other brain, the looking-glass self (I really should have been a psyche major) says, "God, you're such a whiner. Nothing is that bad that you have to cry about it. Just get the work done. Not everyone needs to know every problem you have."

My affective filter is so high that I can't be happy about anything having to do with school. Or the music department. All I can think about is how my music life is taking away time that could be spent on school work. And here I am writing a blog.

The other filter idea is that my verbal one is lowered. I am so low emotionally, and so tired physically, that I can't stop myself from saying every negative and ill-representing thing that pops into my brain.

Exhibit A: Today's brass jury.

Professor: What will you be starting with, the orchestral excerpt or the etude.
Me: I'll start with the excerpt, because I'll just get all the crappy out at once.

Why would I say that? These are very nice brass professors who are evaluating my playing. Why would I set that precedent before they even hear me in my jury? I felt bad about it immediately. But it happened. And I couldn't stop it.

I played beautifully, by the way. Except for the very last, most musically interesting line of the etude. I just wanted it to be over. Or I just wanted to play more. I couldn't just let the music happen, I was thinking way too much. So I messed up every single note. I just can't be too good. Gotta mess it all up somehow.

I wonder if the end of my life will be like that. I'll shape up into a beautiful old woman, who enjoyed a fulfilling career where she touched the hearts of thousands of young musicians, and raised a wonderful family with nice kids and lots of pets. And then she realized she was just gonna die anyway, so she started fucking up every way she could. And then it was over, and just like music, all people really remembered were the beginning and the end, except by that time she was old so nobody who was around for the beginning was still around. So everyone remembered the end where she fucked up.

That would be an ironic fate, indeed.

Stephy

2010-12-06T20:37:00.000-08:00

Not gonna lie, I really hate right now. I'm so fucking lonely. I just want all of my hard work to be worth it. I want another person who can appreciate my papers and my lessons. I want financial aid to believe me when I say I swear I don't see any of the money my mom reported on her taxes. I want to have a paycheck and actually feel like I have money until I spend it. I want another music credential candidate to commiserate with and compare unit plans and work together and be my partner in the potluck final project.

I really wish I didn't feel like I were working toward something imaginary. I want to matter in the world. I want to go to parties on the weekends and make friends and maintain my current friendships. I don't even know how to really be someone's friend. I wish I knew how to be in a relationship. I wish someone out there could know what they're missing by missing out on me.

I hate all of the music majors who talk about grad school. Why don't you spend the money you don't have on something that matters? Why don't you study ways you can help to fix the world instead of trying to preserve the incredibly delicate and closed-off elitist bubble that is the academic music world?

I hate that I can't go home. I hate that there is no real home. And I hate how ugly I look for almost an hour after I cry.

Laundry day post

2010-11-21T13:22:00.000-08:00

It's Thanksgiving break, finally. My plans? None. What am I doing all day for nine days? I don't know. Yesterday I impulsively decided to play trumpet in the pep band for a basketball game. Apparently I wasn't the only one to make this impulsive decision. One of my friends from brass band, whom I had known before because we'd played in this pep band forever ago together and have both actually been the respective leaders of it once upon a time, showed up as well.

"How long has it been since your last gig?" I asked him at one point, about playing in this particular group. "I don't think I've played one in about a year."

"I don't even know," he said. "Oh wait! I played at a football game a few months ago."

So there we were, playing together like old times. Once upon a time, I had a crush on this guy. My soul would smile a sheepish grin every time he complimented my tone. Then he went to Europe for awhile, and I moved on, and had a slightly more substantial crush on the trumpet player I played next to in brass band last year, the subject of a few posts ago. (Me and trumpet players! I don't know!) Then, this semester, the subject of a few posts ago was occupied in that hour, and this first guy was sitting next to me. At first I was a little disappointed--I'd built up a great friendship with the other guy, and really liked playing next to him because he was nice and we were always in tune.

But then, during the concert, I remembered why I had liked playing with my friend (dude #1) so much in the past. We don't just play in tune. We play in tone. We blend together like no other. And we both appreciate each other for that so much. The other guy, yes, we sounded good together as well. And he appreciated my sound, yes, and I appreciated his. But he didn't need me as much. The first one and I, we complete each other.

I was feeling that last night at the game. And so was he. "I'm so glad I get to play next to you!" he would say. "I'm so glad I get to play next to you!" I would reply.

He told me his mom saw me at the brass band concert and asked, "Who's that pretty girl next to you?" I smiled. He said his mom asks about me when she calls now. Our other friend said, "She's shopping for a daughter-in-law!" I didn't know how to react, because I don't always feel platonically for this guy. I just nervously laughed. I don't know what knowing that someone's mom thinks I'm pretty means. Should I be grateful that someone does? Why does that matter? Why would he choose to share that with me if he didn't agree?

All I want is to share a connection with someone who appreciates my mind and loves me for it. And if they think I'm pretty, that's cool too. I really wish I were closer to this person. We always have a great time together, and appreciate each other's ways of being. And we're so musically connected. How can we ignore that?

Stephy

Pros and Cons of the Week So Far

2010-11-03T14:20:00.000-07:00

Pros:

Got a 30/30 on my ELL student/site profile. That's good. I agree that it was amazing work. I'm glad it paid off.
Got a new bed yesterday. It's really high up and comfy. I slept so well last night. It's amazing what raising the elevation of your sleeping area does. And it's so big!
I talked to my dad yesterday.
I talked to my mom yesterday, too.
My friend (subject of last blog) gave me a really nice hug yesterday. He smells like rain. We watched fun French music videos after.
I played some amazing brass music (the Pinkham Christmas Cantata).
I found out that I still remember how to play trombone, and I led a trombone sectional at my school site.
I got a free muffin because my friend works at the bagel place.

Cons:

Got a 1/3 on my first Service Learning log. I was looking at the rubric the whole time I was writing it. I know I had a few things that were a 3. Can't we just have an average? I thought. I cried for hours.
My cat still has fleas. I wish it would get better.
The reason I talked to both of my parents last night is because my sister tried to commit suicide. Not implied it...not faking. She really tried. I don't know what to think about this.
That's also the reason my friend gave me a hug.
I was late to the Pinkham cantata rehearsal. I thought it was at 8, and it turns out there was a 7:00 rehearsal for brass only. I ran in, totally confused, totally ashamed and embarrassed that I had gotten the time wrong.
Content Area Literacy is a ridiculous class, in which we were just assigned a group project, in groups organized by content area. Too bad I'm the only person in my content area. The sad part is, I know it's an important class. The teacher is just really terrible.
I took one bite of the muffin and felt something hard between my teeth. It was really, really hard, so I spit it out. I found bits of glass in my hand. I showed my friend. He said he'll tell the bakers about it. I said he should probably get rid of the other muffin, and he agreed and did so. Good thing I didn't have to pay for it. And good thing I chew my food. This is obviously a sign that I should eat fewer muffins.

It's a beautiful afternoon and I don't really know what to do with myself. I think I'll go for a walk downtown, and think about buying things, but not actually buy anything because I have no money.

My Brain, the "What-if" Machine

2010-10-25T21:23:00.000-07:00

So, I had a giant crush on this friend of mine for a little less than a year. I don't really want to get super specific, but I met him in the beginning of last year, thought it was weird that we'd been in a similar vicinity for over four years and never met, but we became fast friends. Blah blah, I liked him, blah. One time, relatively recently, he made a comment to me that rubbed me kind of the wrong way about constantly being single. Something about, "I only dated girls that were desperate." Later, when I got home, I called him kind of offended after letting it sink in for a few minutes. "What do you mean by desperate? What does that mean?" I asked. He said that was only when he dated, and he hasn't dated in years, and he tried to last year but the woman ended up having two other boyfriends. (He never actually explained what "desperate" meant, but he may have been embarrassed to elaborate.)

I told him that it really wasn't fair to complain about your lack of a dating life to someone who even more severely lacks a dating life. And, in my mind, I added "to a person who has liked you more intensely and for more substantial reasons than she's ever liked anyone." We talked about our lack of dating life together, and I said something like, "Yeah, the only non-gay, single guy I know is...I think you." He completely ignored this inference I was trying to make. He said, "Well, and I'm an old man anyway." Totally not true. Yes, 13 years is a noticeable age difference. But 40 years ago, a gap like that was normal. I don't see him as too old for me at all.

But something in that comment flipped the switch. He didn't count me as a person eligible for him to be in a relationship with. And suddenly it was over. We talked for a half hour after that, about everything. It was a relief that those feelings were gone. I felt like I could finally be his friend for real.

Over the course of this weekend, though, my switch has been weakening. I think I may be starting to feel things for him again. This is made obvious by the dream I had last night--

I dreamed I was pregnant. (Yes, another pregnant dream...these come and go in phases.) I don't know who was the father of my pregnant dream-baby, but I rushed over to my friend's house, panicked. I started crying. I had no idea what to do.

He took my hand and said, "You know what this means, right?" I said no. "It means, we have to move in together. I will not let you go through this alone." I was stunned. "You would really do that for me?" I asked. He said, "I have to. You're the second most important person in my life" ("Who's the first?" I wondered later. "His cat?") "and your baby needs to have two parents." I agreed. Then the weird part came: "We have to leave here, though. We need to go to Missouri." (What the fuck is in Missouri? That's weird.) I said, "That's fine, I think. I can't believe you're being so nice to me." Then my cat, in real life, howled her 7:00 howl and my dream ended.

Here's the bizarre part. You know when you're really into a dream, and you wake up and kind of consider how different life would be if the dream were real? I would have been okay with those circumstances. If I were somehow made preggo, and my friend offered to take care of me and give my baby an opportunity for a somewhat normal life, I may be happy. As I started my day I thought about how that could work...we could just be friends living together, then fall in love eventually or fall in love with someone else and move elsewhere and still be friends. I like that.

That wouldn't likely be the case, though. I would never let myself get close to that unless I were really close to the guy.

I wonder if he could ever get past the age difference. I don't think it's even nearly as substantial as our friendship.

On brass and self-esteem

2010-10-17T14:50:00.000-07:00

It is so hard to write a paper when my sources are in textbooks, sheets of other paper, notes from lectures, and online. I'm stuck on the type of L1 assessment used with my case study student for my ELD student/site profile. I can't find the sheet that says what kinds were available. Wah. Why is teacher school so hard? The actual work, the papers, the assignments are nothing. The means of doing them is so frustrating. Turn it in online, print it out, you can hand-write this one, e-mail your partner and print it to turn it in. Not everyone has Internet in their friggen house! I am in the library which is usually an amazing place to get work done, but it's freezing in here. Wahhh!

Last night was amazing. The Symphonic Band and Jazz Orchestra had their split mid-semester concert. After nine semesters of playing in Symphonic Band, it was so nice to just sit in the audience and watch. I remember being so stressed out playing those things, thinking, "I'm out of tune! The section isn't blending! We're all out of tune! The piccolo is flat! Everyone's gonna notice!" But watching the group was amazing. It sounded so good!

I played for three of the six jazz orchestra charts, which I realize now is not a good distribution because I can only make one out of the four hours of rehearsal. That's okay, it was fun. And my trumpet professor finally saw it! He never sees the jazz orchestra concerts! Backstage, he said, "Yay trumpets! What good tones!" It made me happy.

And the after party was the first party I'd been to in a long time where I really had a good time. It's because there were so many trumpet players around, and so many nice band people and friends. It was also a birthday party for the three guys who live in that house, and there was a cake with a happy-looking caterpillar. Some of the younger guys said to me, "Stephy! You make me so happy! You are like that caterpillar--if you were a caterpillar, you'd be that caterpillar!"

Then I turned to an older friend (who I used to kind of have a crush on, who plays trumpet next to me in brass band) and said, "Those guys think I'm that caterpillar. Isn't that silly?" And he shook his head and said, "Stephy. You're a butterfly." I smiled and he said, "You don't give yourself enough credit! You're a fucking woodwind player who plays first cornet with those guys"--he pointed to the top trumpet players at the school--"and me. And you know what? I'm so honored I get to play next to you."

I sure wish I could find my list of the nicest things people have ever said to me, because that would make it. Also, earlier in the day, I was walking to the Farmer's Market and a random guy leaning by a wall said to me, "That's a great smile. You've just made my day better."

Yesterday was a good day for my self-esteem. Now I think I should move out of the library and try to do some of this work on paper. I may just be a successful human being yet.

Stephy

Oh My Goodness!

2010-10-11T19:24:00.000-07:00

I remembered my password. What do I write about? I'm sleep-deprived.
Stephy

Finally

2010-04-04T14:33:00.000-07:00

I'm finally starting to feel okay about myself again. Took me long enough. I was worried about my recital because it was going to be in two weeks and my face hasn't healed all the way yet from getting wisdom teeth out, and there I sat in my clarinet lesson thinking about it and I started crying in front of my teacher. There's no way I can be ready in two weeks, I realized. I didn't think my teeth would take so long to feel normal again. I'd never feel good about my recital unless I knew for sure that it would truly represent how good I can be as a musician.

He went to the office and changed the date to a month later (the last day of finals week), and everything felt better. Everything. Then I realized that there really is so much going right in my life, and I'll be okay. My classwork is going awesome. I just got accepted into the teaching credential program. I'm making really good money for also being a full-time student. My body is super sexy, not in a model way, but just in a healthy and decent-looking in a bikini way. My cat is incredibly sweet, my friends are super nice--and I've met someone who laughs at every joke I make, who makes me feel so good when I'm around him that I just want to be around him all day, every day. I've known him for a few months, and just now is it starting to dawn on me that he might possibly feel just as good when we spend time together as I do.

And guess what. Because my recital is the day before commencement, both of my parents can see me both play my recital and graduate. I am so relieved. I would have probably cried if my mom didn't see me play, or if my dad didn't come to my graduation. I miss them so much. I miss my family being together so much, but having both of my parents with me on my two biggest days will be as good as it can get, and I'm okay with that.

I can't even take it. It's such an intense relief to finally feel like I'm in control again.

Stephy

2010-03-27T00:22:00.000-07:00

My kitty is missing. I can't believe life won't even let me feel okay for just 24 hours.

2010-02-28T21:15:00.000-08:00

Every time I think about who I am or how I am, I start crying. I hate it so much. Nothing in my life is really that bad. I don't deserve to feel this way. The burning loneliness is the only reason for it. I miss having roommates. I wasn't ready for them to just up and leave. I kind of needed them to distract me from me. Now I don't have any distractions, just constant reminders of how I'm not "as good as I should be." I hate that I'm punished for having ability.

I want to go home for spring break and not come back. Except now my house is gone, too. I feel like that's my fault. I feel like every problem I'm having in my life is my fault. Most of them are, I know. What hurts the most is what other people have invested in me. I'm so sorry I failed.

Sick Today

2010-02-23T23:33:00.000-08:00

Dear nose,

Please stop producing a consistent river of snot. And stop hurting because I only brought three tissues to school, used them within the first hour of being there, and had to use toilet paper the rest of the day. And for Pete's sake, just sneeze when you have to! None of this feeling like it might happen, and then having one watery eye instead thing. That's even more awkward. And frustrating. Because I want that snot out.

Love,
Stephy

2010-02-13T00:14:00.000-08:00

I've been pushed pretty close before, but I don't think I've ever felt so buried. So much is on my mind. I wish only a few things were. I felt trapped for a little bit, but I'm working through it. I can see how some things, maybe most things or even everything, won't fail.

Nobody else is in this situation. It's my own damn fault and it's lonely. I can't think of a night I didn't lie in bed for at least an hour, thinking about how to fill the few gaps in my schedule wisely. In the end, I can't be confined to X-amount of hours. I need a day or two, but I don't have very many of those, either.

Most minutes of most days are spent doing useful things, but in the end there are more things to do the next day. I refuse to study at home. I'm doing extra well in my classes, probably because I'm doing extra awful at being a functioning human being. I crave a real, consistent practice regime. It's not there and my playing is suffering for it and it hurts. I hate how ugly I look when I cry. I can't wait for summer. I'd love to someday have some daylight when my day is over. I'm excited for when I can write a cohesive set of thoughts at my leisure.

Thrift Store Day

2009-11-25T21:39:00.000-08:00

I'm not really one to brag about the things I buy, but today the sheer mass and diversity of items I bought for such a small amount of money was pretty overwhelming. 6 stops, 16 items, about $55 spent and almost none of it was crap.

And now I will list it all because it's an impressive list.

Location 1: Rescue Mission, Arcata
One hat: $1. It is black and knit, and will keep my head warm.
One skirt: $2. Purple and flowery. I don't wear a lot of skirts, but if I have more I will. (I have the same logic with cardigans...I only had two cardigans until today. I don't want to wear the same cardigan every day...)

Location 2: Clothing Dock, Arcata
One blue dress: $24. This dress is for recitals. It is the super beautiful, fancy dress I've been looking for all my life (since August). It's dark blue, slinky, and shows off my boobies just enough to not distract people from the music, but if they need to be distracted they will be there. Dark blue is my color. I love it so. I think I should thicken the straps a little, though, just so it looks slightly less slutty up top. Oh yeah, and there's breathing room. It will match both the clarinet and the trumpet. Did I mention it's blue?

Location 3: Recycling Center thrift store, Arcata
Two records: $1. It was meant to be that I obtained those records. The first one is Pete Fountain and the Dukes of Dixie. It just fell into my lap begging for me to take it home. I have a new clarinet student who is really inspired by this guy. The second one is Chuck Mangione, "Feels So Good." I had to get it because Chuck looked so happy embracing his flugelhorn like that. Who could ignore such a musician's tender love for his instrument?

Location 4: St. Vincent de Paul's, Arcata
One black beret: FREE. From the free bin. I, too, can be an artsy beret wearer. Now I will feel like I fit in when I go to jazz shows! Seriously, I wore it all day and felt so cool. When I got home I realized that lice could be living in it. Oops.
One blue purse: $1. Now I have a purse! It matches my blue wallet in the way that they're both blue.

Location 5: Rescue Mission, Eureka
One blue skirt: $2. Again, if I have more skirts, I will wear them more often. This doesn't apply to pants because wearing the same pants three days in a row is much less conspicuous than if you wore the same skirt.
One striped shirt: $1. It's a button down shirt, and it has red in it, and it's striped. I don't usually wear red or striped things, but this was button down and it fit pretty well in the arms which never happens. I figure if I need to not look like a sloppy college kid I can wear that shirt.
One blue cardigan: $3. We thought it might be a man's cardigan because there are only buttons on the bottom. In the end, I decided I didn't care because if there's something cool on my shirt people can see it when the sweater's still buttoned up.
Two sets of records: $2. They are those Time-Life boxed sets of records in the "Story of Great Music" collection. My mom's husband gave me a few of them, and now I have more in my collection--"Prelude to Modern Music" and "The Spanish Style." I love it, I love it!

Location 6: Gross-me-Outlet
Okay, this isn't a thrift store. But my friend needed to buy some groceries. I found things in there I had never seen before.
Two shower curtains: $10. Our other one was ripping up, and these ones had metal reinforcements in the rings. Plus they look way better! They're blue.
Nutella: $3. Okay, I was out of control. I don't think I'd ever seen Nutella that was less than $4.
Some noodles: 50 cents. Noodles are good.

Total spent, about $55. Total items obtained, 16. Average cost of an item today, $3.43. Average cost of an item minus the pretty dress, $2.07.

Success!

Dear Clarinet,

2009-10-27T00:39:00.000-07:00

I miss you.

Love,
Stephy.

FYI

2009-10-13T21:55:00.000-07:00

Don't get scabies. It's just a bad idea.

These Things Happen

2009-09-30T21:38:00.000-07:00

I was going to just put one sticker on one door, but I ended up putting stickers on most of the music department office doors. I didn't want to leave anyone out...and everyone loves stickers.

(I didn't actually stick them--I cut the stickers out of their paper so the recipient can choose where to stick it.)

Choose where to stick it...that's what she said.

Why, School?

2009-09-27T22:32:00.000-07:00

I'm so frustrated with school. I feel like no matter what I do, I lose; which makes me not want to do anything which doesn't fix the problem. The problem is Moodle. Don't freaking sacrifice your classroom lecture skills just because people have Internet now. That is not conducive to learning! I don't even know what I'm supposed to know.

I'm taking this class called Technology Skills for the Educator, which was going to take place over three long weekends but was cancelled because the state of California makes higher education its number one priority. So now it's an online class and it fucking sucks. I wanted it to be over after three weeks and now I have to deal with it all semester long. Also, I didn't realize it was a three-unit course. I thought it was one unit, with a quick assignment each week that teaches us about software and computers or something like that. That would be logical. But instead every assignment is hours worth of busywork I don't even want to start. I get stuck on the instructions. I read them and cry for awhile because they are so vague. It's like all of the music education classes, with assignments like, "Make a lesson plan that covers a standard." No other details. Which standard? What grade? How long?

And guess what. I want to be a music teacher, I've mentioned that. My students will learn things, but not from the Internet. So why would I put them through a "Web Quest" assignment where they have to pretend they're some occupation and gather what could be false information from the Internet? And why do I have to find the specific websites they look at for them? That's not what I intend to do, ever. That is, again, not conducive to learning. Why don't you freaking open a book and learn stuff, kids? Or pay attention to my probably very short and stimulating lectures?

So, I'm really frustrated and upset about this. School is not supposed to be hard. Yes, I like to think and have ideas, but I like to have some kind of prompt or way of looking at information and then being able to discuss it. Not just, pull an assignment out of your ass. That is fucking stupid.

If a school required me to give students assignments that made them pretend they were a professional whatever and had to look up whatever from the Internet, I probably wouldn't work at that school. Or I would, but I shouldn't have to think about that crap now. Right now, I'm the student and I want to learn things and not pretend I'm a teacher and have to write a lesson plan. That's what the fucking credential year is for, assholes.

I practiced trumpet for two full hours today. I felt like a champion. And then I realized all my non-trumpet classes don't care how much I practice and now I feel like crap. Thank you, school. I'm glad I pay so much money to feel like crap.

Awesome as Apple Pie

2009-09-25T18:43:00.000-07:00

Found on my windshield:

It reads: "Stephanie is amazing, beautiful and all-around awesome as a fresh-baked apple pie on a cold winter evening! Hooray Stephanie!"

Placing random nice notes about people on their cars? Sounds like something I would do! But I didn't do this...I'm so happy someone else does this.

It's good.

2009-09-13T11:39:00.000-07:00

Okay, not trying to sound conceited or vain, and I know other people might not be as happy if they were me...but I love my body. I do. I know we've had our ups and downs. But I'm freaking beautiful.

If I were another person, and attracted to women, I would make out with me. I only say this because I'm young and I can appreciate that it's only going to be harder and harder. Life is going to suck because I won't be pretty forever. If I'm lucky I'll be old for awhile. And yes, I'm drinking a beer in the picture (Lost Coast Downtown Brown), but I really take pretty good care of myself. I deserve to look this good.

2009-08-24T22:10:00.000-07:00

I'm sooo freaking tired. My new schedule works in theory but I have to remember to bring food and eat lunch before. I have a solid five-hour block of class (two of which I'm standing most of the time, playing trumpet in jazz orchestra) on Mondays that starts at 11. I stumbled home around 4:30...maybe it's the entire summer's worth of drinking and late nights finally catching up with me. I had this weird funny headache all day that made it hard to move my eyes around much...

Maybe I'm coming down with something? I would laugh. If I got sick on Wednesday it would be the third, first Wednesday of school in a row that I would have missed from suddenly getting sick, and then being okay the next day (except the first time, two years ago, I was sick on the third day of school from strep that technically stayed with me for two weeks, but I was totally functioning the next day).

But you know, that would suck to be sick. Let's just not.

If I was a bird, and you was a fish

2009-08-23T13:28:00.000-07:00

Last night I made a playlist that contains only songs about or mentioning birds:

1. They Might Be Giants: "Birdhouse in Your Soul"
2. Madness: "Wings of a Dove"
3. Beatles: "Blackbird"
4. Agent Ribbons: "Birds and Bees"
5. Roger Miller: "Reincarnation" ("If I was a bird, and you was a fish, what would we do? I guess we'd wish for reincarnation...")
6. Cake: "Comfort Eagle"
7. The Byrds: "Eight Miles High" (Really just because the band's name is The Byrds.)
8. Yoko Kanno: "Green Bird"
9. The Beatles: "Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)"
10. Eisley: "Tree Tops" ("I will grow wings and fly everywhere")
11. Kimya Dawson: "Angels and Seagulls"
12. Eels: "I Like Birds"
13. The Nightcrawlers: "The Little Black Egg"
14. Of Montreal: "Peacock Parasols"
15. The Flaming Lips: "It's Summertime" (for the bird sounds in the beginning...)
16. Roger Miller: "What Are Those Things (With Big Black Wings?)"
17. They Might Be Giants: "Bee of the Bird of the Moth"
18. Iron and Wine: "Bird Stealing Bread"
19. TV on the Radio: "Stork & Owl"
20. The Beatles: "Across the Universe" ("Birds are flying out like endless rain into a paper cup"...I know it's actually words flying out, but birds makes more sense to me, that's how I thought it was for a long time.)
21. The Shins: "Girl on the Wing"
22. Of Montreal: "City Bird"
23. Gregory and the Hawk: "Boats and Birds"
24. Grateful Dead: "Little Red Rooster"
25. Bright Eyes: "True Blue"
26. Cake: "Mr. Mastadon Farm" ("Birds fall from the window ledge above mine, and they flap their wings at the last second...")

Aren't you glad you read all that?

I still have no idea where I stand with this guy. I even asked him and he didn't give me a direct answer. He said he wasn't looking for a relationship, that doesn't answer the question of where I stand with him. He came to Pint Night and stood right next to me the entire time. At the party last night, I saw him come in and the first thing he did was stare at me as he walked across the room. I don't know! Why doesn't he go up to me?

There is obviously something there. Every time I'm in the same room with him I can feel his eyes following me, the faces I make and the things I say (which are considerably less because I'm super conscious of it). It's really really hard in a group. Everyone can tell. I had fun as the sober driver, but I kind of wish I'd been wasted. There is no halfway point here. There is no "three beers and I'm happy." Because really, that makes me all the more aware. I can't hide behind alcohol.

Hmm

2009-08-17T22:17:00.000-07:00

Well, I took a risk for once and it blew up in my face--not in a cool way like Mount Vesuvius, but in a slow-flowing lava way, painful truths and chunks of thought gushing out of me and to me. It sucks. I'm so jealous of my classmates who are together. I'm jealous of my roommates who are together, and my younger sisters who have both been with someone, and both my parents who are with other people. I actually found a person whom I thought related really well to me, and reached out to him, went out of my way to see him which I almost NEVER do even with my closest friends...he doesn't want something I don't even know enough about to know if I want or don't want it.

I just want to fucking know what it's like for once! Labels are cheap. I don't want a "relationship." I want a nice friend who cares for me and thinks about me, won't judge me or say "You're SO [insert quirky adjective]" (which I can't stand) whom I can feel physically close to. I want an unconditional friend who can make me laugh and give me something to think about. I want to mean a lot to someone who means a lot to me.

Ugh, this sucks. Welcome to being 22, entering a fifth year of college. I guess I'll just be a really good musician instead.

If at first you don't succeed, invite yourself to dinner

2009-08-05T00:48:00.000-07:00

I wanted to tell him to stop torturing me. If he likes me, that's great! But if he doesn't, he should tell me so I can stop bugging him. But instead, I told him he should make me dinner.

Why would I do that? Besides the fact that I've already made him dinner two or three times?

Anyway, he invited me to his place on Thursday to make falafel.

I didn't really like the glasses I got in February...I thought their shape was kind of funny. Today might be one of the first times I actually wore them all day and went out in public. Dare I say it? I looked pretty cute.

Lovely Lovely Lovely

2009-07-22T19:53:00.000-07:00

I like someone and I told him, and he did not react negatively. I am so happy.

Silly

2009-07-18T14:24:00.000-07:00

Old black man on a bike next to the driveway of Safeway and Longs: "A most beautiful woman, wearing a purple shirt!"

Me passing by after buying some shuttlecocks: "Uhh...it's yellow?"

Man: "Oh pardon me! I'm color blind! That is yellow, like a flower. I wish I was a bumblebee!"

Me: (Laughs, keeps walking)

I'm not gonna lie, I loved it.

Bolero of Life

2009-07-14T12:38:00.000-07:00

Bolero is pretty much Maurice Ravel's most famous and infamous piece. It's in 3, starts with a simple "1...5, 1...5" in the pizzicato bass, triplet patterns in the snare soon to follow. An innocent, long-phrased melody emerges, obviously one of the first lessons you learn about life. Clarinet repeats it, it's true. The harp embellishes the pizzicato backgrounds. We're here for you.

The bassoon provides an alternative viewpoint. It's true what they said before. But there's another reason it's true. Confused, we hear the clarinet in its upper octave. Yes, the bassoon was right. You just weren't ready to hear it before. Horns join the snare.

The oboe states the beginning theme. Remember this truth. Flute and trumpet take the second paragraph. It is the one truth. Trumpet, once the vessel of truth, joins the snare again.

Next is the alto sax, siding with the bassoon. Don't you forget the truth.

Yes, yes, we've heard this all before. Here comes the alto sax again with that same stupid melody...what? A piccolo above, harmonizing in perfect fourths? Flute in the middle...I see that we are now ready to embellish even more that one simple lesson from the beginning. Trombone enters with that second idea like a king, the king of your consciousness. Woodwinds agree as a chorus. They are loyal to their king. Don't you ever forget the words of your king.

Strings finally have something to say. It's what we've been thinking the entire time. They've tired of only serving as background to the ideas. It's time for their statement. And it only takes one phrase to deliver it embellished with harmony. In the distance, the trumpet agrees with that same contrasting view. The king sits in his throne and lets the court take over. A melody to live by.

The first true forte emerges. Percussion and brass abound. The king steps up and speaks to his loyal subjects. The world has never felt so right, but then my consciousness changes key and all is chaos.

I think when I die, Bolero will be in the background of my life's montage. I'm not sure what my single truth is, but it seems to keep coming back in different forms, fancier and louder each time.

Terrible and Wonderful

2009-07-11T01:16:00.000-07:00

I saw his van three times today. The first time it passed me by--he was driving it in the opposite direction as I headed off to the Crabs game. I parked my own van on the 11th street bridge.

The second time was after the Crabs game ended. I needed to trade my trumpet and music bag for my purse to get a drink or two (I wish I'd only bought one) at the Alibi with some friends. His van was parked on the other side of the bridge. I took my time switching gears and constantly looked around in case he happened to be heading back.

The third time was after the Alibi--still parked on the bridge across from my van. I'd purchased a veggie burrito from a taco truck a few blocks down. Shamefully and shamelessly I consumed the burrito in my driver's seat and watched for him to return to his own vehicle. He didn't.

I ripped out a page from the spiral-bound notebook I carry and hastily scribbled out a poem I remembered reading in seventh grade. Folding it into quarters I wrote "For You" on the outside and stuck it into the handle of his door.

I got up at 4:45am and all I got was this stupid blog entry

2009-07-07T06:11:00.000-07:00

Something in my bed is eating me alive!

I first noticed a tiny itchy bite on my arm a few days ago. The next day, there were three on my stomach. Now there are a few on my leg and they itch like crazy. Sucks.

Today (night?) was the full moon. I saw it up high in the sky around midnight, and read that the moon would be full at 5:33am. I wanted to see it set over the foggy horizon--I've found a really great place to watch things set. So I left the house at 5am to get there, and I didn't see the damn moon anywhere. I didn't know the moment of fullness happens after it's fallen out of sight, I must have missed that part.

But you know, I'd forgotten how much I love being awake the early morning. The world is still asleep except for the birds. They're like the youngest campers in the cabins the first morning of camp...chit-chatting like nobody else around is trying to sleep. Except people here have windows and it shuts out the sounds so the birds can talk as loud as they want.

The world breathes extra loud in the dawnish hours--it's a noise that, if it's not always happening, is somehow extra evident that early. Like being the first person awake at a slumber party. Everyone is breathing the whole time, but you're never made aware until it's the only noise available. So even if I didn't see the moon, I got to listen to the world sleep and watch the city of Eureka sparkle wearily across the bay.

I just made a playlist of all the clarinet music I have. This is what I've got:

Aaron Copland: Concerto for Clarinet, Strings, Harp and Piano
Johannes Brahms: Clarinet Trio in a minor, Opus 114 [Clarinet, piano, cello]
Giacomo Setaccioli: Sonata for Clarinet and Piano in E-flat Major, Opus 31
Darius Milhaud: Duo Concertant [I really REALLY want to play this! Why has nobody done this at my school? Just because it has fast arpeggios and high notes? Boo-hoo, welcome to Woodwind Land.]
Copland: Sonata for Clarinet and Piano
Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco: Sonata for Clarinet and Piano Opus 128 [This was my big piece I worked on last semester--so crazy hard, but I felt like a champion when I practiced stumbling through the fast movements]
Brahms: Sonata in f minor, Opus 120/1 [A definite yes for my upcoming recital in the fall...I am in love with this piece.]
Leonard Bernstein: Sonata for Clarinet and Piano
W.A. Mozart: Concerto for Clarinet K. 622
Nino Rota: Sonata in D for Clarinet and Piano
George Gershwin: Three Preludes for Piano (arranged for piano and clarinet by James Cohn)
Brahms: Sonata in E-flat Major, Opus 120/2
Carl Neilsen: Concerto for Clarinet and Orchestra, Opus 57 (FS 129)
Morton Gould: Benny's Gig for Clarinet and Double Bass [I was thinking of doing this with my friend who plays tuba.]
Mario Pilati: Inquetude (Etude Melodique)
Ralph Vaughan Williams: Six Studies in English Folksong
Nicolas del Grazia: Tarantella

Total: 4.3 hours of clarinetty goodness.

Some recordings I don't have: Sonata for clarinet and piano by Saint-Saens, both Spohr concertos, Premiere Rhapsodie by Debussy, Three Pieces for Solo Clarinet by Stravinsky, Ebony Concerto by Stravinsky, and all the foofy stuff by Weber. Honestly Weber can keep his concertos, concertino and duo concertant. Merh. I've got more expressive fish to fry!

I've also got a bit of jazzy clarinet, but that gets its own playlist later in life.

Why words? "Y" words!

2009-02-16T09:18:00.000-08:00

Fun-to-say words that start with "Y":

Yogurt
Yellow
Yoga
Jazz (when pronounced "yahzzz")

And I like lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of ocelots.

Everything is connected to everything.

2009-01-30T19:33:00.000-08:00

I bought this shirt online and got it today. I wasn't sure it would fit, and it feels kind of tight but my roommate said it looks good. It's freaking amazing. I can't wait to wear it at school.

I can't believe how amazing I feel right now. I really, really can't believe it. It hasn't been just today, but ever since school started. Everything I'm doing is so important for everything I will be doing. I just haven't felt that in so long.

I've started taking yoga and Latin dance classes, and this is why--the vast majority of things I have studied, elementary through high school, has been a piece of delicious knowledge cake for me. I know structured schoolish learning isn't for everyone--even if someone wants to learn all about something, it might still be difficult for him/her. People learn in different ways. I want to experience not being good at something the first time I try it, which includes (for me) all things physical. I'm analytic and aesthetically creative, and have never been a kinesthetic learner. Hence, the yoga and dance.

(By the way, I don't think I've ever felt so good after such intense physical exertion, ever. I feel unstoppable.)

But wait, there's more. Yoga is largely focused on breathing, which is a neat coincidence--I just started the class because my friend was doing it. Right now, in my voice class (as a novice singer) we're learning the basics of proper breathing. One of the main giant points of my conducting class is having awareness of my own body as I conduct. That idea scares the crap out of me...that people will be looking at me, that I will have to watch a video of myself and analyze what my body is doing and if that is conveying what I feel should happen in the music.

Hopefully after becoming more aware of my body in other places and other areas, I won't be so scared of what I'm physically doing in front of people. Suddenly the notion that I can be a musician who can show with her body how she wants her group to perform doesn't feel as alien as I thought it would.

And then there's vocal and instrumental scoring. I can't believe only music ed and composition majors are allowed to take that class. What we're learning is what I think every musician should know regardless of how they might or might not use it. (It's about part writing, arranging music, and being faithful to the original music even if your ensemble lacks crucial roles.) It's been two weeks and I'm already a different person.

Triangle Man hates Particle Man. They have a fight--Triangle wins.

2009-01-18T14:48:00.000-08:00

I keep trying to think of things to say in this. I've been listening to They Might Be Giants a lot. I'm so glad I have a CD player because my computer doesn't have sound. I wish it did, because I want to record some more songs. I should really just get a new computer, but I'm afraid because I've had this one since I was 16. And I hate laptops. They seem so insubstantial. I need something heavy-duty for the many random projects I use it for.

Last night I dressed up like a man and went to a gay bar. I didn't know a place like that existed--a public place to get drunk and dance to music that I could sometimes recognize (though I wasn't sure if I was supposed to dance like a man, and if so, how is a man supposed to dance?). I drew a sweet 'stache on my face. I would be a man just to have a mustache. Maybe people would respect me more with a mustache.

And now, pictures of my sleeping kitten. His face looks like a fetus face, and it's adorable.

I realized, after I had drawn the mustache, that I was wearing sparkly nail polish. "It's okay," my roommate said, "You can be a French man! They have good hygiene." She had drawn eyebrows and facial hair on herself that made her look creepily like our friend who used to be in love with me.

On Second Thought

2009-01-16T11:37:00.000-08:00

It might be nice to have a child, family and/or house someday. I would have someone to sing to.

"Oh the wayward wind is a restless wind...a restless wind that yearns to wander..."--Patsy Cline, my vocalist hero. Women can have low voices and sing beautifully. Stupid world dominated by sopranos.

PS--Maybe Patsy Cline's songs give me unrealistic expectations. "A Poor Man's Roses"? What the hell, Patsy? You whore. Why are there two guys around interested in you, when I can't even find one?

Nightmares

2009-01-15T23:39:00.000-08:00

A little while ago I came up with a theory on dreams in general--that they are actually a manifestation of what could have been. I, in my dreams, am visiting an alternate universe through the eyes of an alternate me. Pretty cool, huh? Of course there's no way you could ever prove this, but I think dreams are real, somewhere, in a place where circumstances were different.

I've never had the same dream twice, but since middle school I've gone through phases where dreams would feature similar ideas or objects. I had a pool phase, where I constantly dreamed about swimming in a pool, or seeing a pool. Last year, when I was taking care of Piña, I had a huge streak of axolotl dreams. (There were about 7-10 of these, and most were really disturbing...my sister turning into an axolotl, seeing someone barbecue axolotls, etc...)

I usually don't have outright nightmares. Sometimes conditions in my dreams are brutal or stressful, and I wake up relieved that that wasn't the reality I live in. What hurts is when dreams are excessively happy, and I wake up disappointed. (Me coming home to the house I grew up in and seeing both of my parents and both of my sisters all together, everyone laughing together...I think in that dream, I'd never gone to college.) I get really immersed in the dreams I have, and am usually surprised when I wake up.

Recently, I've been having dreams where I'm pregnant. I am very confused in these dreams, asking "How did this happen? How is this possible?" Because there is really no way I could be pregnant, at least not in this world. Really, not at all.

It is the scariest dream ever. I do not want a child. I love kids; I've worked with them all summer for the past three summers. I could not fathom having one of my own. I can't even fathom the idea of having my own family. I think I'm a little bitter that my family failed when they were so close to making things right. I don't want to invest so much time and money, not to mention emotional factors, into something that will just fail.

Anyway. If my theory is true, somewhere in one or several alternate realities I've recently had a sexual partner. I never saw him around in those dreams, though. Maybe he broke up with me, or went on a long trip abroad. Maybe he was just a fling. I wonder if he's where I am in this reality. Maybe I don't even know him here.

If my theory is false, there are a million other reasons I could be dreaming of being pregnant. Maybe my brain is begging me to reconsider the idea. Maybe I'm watching too many shows on TV where people are pregnant. I also know quite a few people in real life who are, or just had babies. My mom thought my sister was pregnant because she gained a lot of weight. That would be weird. It would be almost too much to bear. She deserves better than what she has.

Hopefully, either I find out who my mystery lover is, or these silly dreams stop. I kind of want to see who the lover is.

--Stephy

Thought I'd share

2008-02-14T22:33:00.000-08:00

I'm taking Forestry 400 this semester as a GE. I've lived in a forest all my life, and I figured I should know a little more, so I chose an 8:00 class about trees over a 10:00 class about some political something class. What I've found is that forestry is amazing. This is an informal paper I wrote (we write one every week). I wrote it in an hour, that's why parts might not make sense. But I thought my ideas were cool, so here you go:

The origin of this reflection dates back to one of the first classes this semester, when we discussed “What is nature?” and John Locke’s “state of nature.” A few days after that, in my foundations of music education class, we were discussing philosophy in general and the instructor asked, “Who was the philosopher whose ideas were the basis of the Declaration of Independence?”

After a few seconds of awkward silence I mumbled, “John Locke?” My peers looked at me like I was crazy for knowing such a thing. I thought I was crazy, too. Where did I get that? How in the world would I remember something like that?

When I figured it out (days later) I discussed it with the instructor mentioning that I had just learned about different definitions of nature in my other class. He said, “Oh, a cross-curricular idea. Those come around maybe once every five or six years!” But when I thought about it a little more, I realized I don’t think it’s that rare. As I learn more about the structure of education in general it seems more and more apparent to me that many ideas I come across in all my classes, general or not, are related.

When I read this article, I was about halfway through when I made another connection. Old growth forests thrive on diversity. A disturbance can either wipe one out completely, or give it a new character. When it is given time, it grows more complex because different species make their homes in the canopy. Even as older trees die, the “complexity” and character of the entire area carries on.

That last idea forged another connection in me that hit very close to home. A high school band has to start from scratch. Nobody just has a bunch of instruments and starts a music program. The program at first relies on the school obtaining a small amount of essential instruments, several eager individual students who wish to express themselves musically, and an instructor or two to help the entity “grow.” More and more music and equipment is obtained, and the cross-section of students interested in the program grows more diverse, but now that first group of kids has graduated. Even though the first generation has gone away, the school now has a nice seedling band which will soon grow more complex. The younger students have to take over the band and build their skills (develop biodiversity in their canopy) while the older students have left behind their influence and legacy (what is now a lot of snags on the forest floor).

Unfortunately, a high school band also faces disturbances. Some influencial official decides that music is not an important thing to learn about and cuts artistic classes for schools, or the director leaves his job for bigger and better persuits, or the feeder schools just didn’t spin out a lot of interest this year. Which also makes me wonder: which of those distubances would be considered “natural?” The third one? If a human-created structure like a music program is so similar to a “naturally” created structure like an old growth forest, is humanity really so unnatural?

I hope I’ve made another cross-curricular connection.

Cookie

2008-02-08T16:21:00.000-08:00

When you told me to tell her
Thanks for the cookie,
The way you said Cookie--
How it sparked from the
Collision of tongue and palette
And tumbled softly into my ears--
Cookie--
And how such a word changed your face
After you said it--
Sweetened my fondness for you.
Cookie.

--Stephy :)

An Axolotl Friend

2008-02-03T13:52:00.000-08:00

I finally recorded my new song about Piña! I actually put effort into this one. I wanted to add a clarinet solo, but I don't know if the world is ready for that yet.

Sweet Green Icing – An Axolotl Friend

Lyrics:
Red feathery gills that
Frame a smiling face that sucks up
Small wiggly worms who live in a tub
That sits in the fridge
A small plate in the tank for a bed and
A big mug for a cave, just peek
Inside and Piña is there, he's looking at you
He's saying hello
(chorus)
Piña will never set
Foot on land but he'll be my friend
From ghosty white to pink and warm
He'll rescue me from any storm
I see him in my dreams and in the end
I have an axolotl friend
(end chorus)
Now white as a strip of lace he
Sits content in his tank
What surprises will Piña bring next?
He's swimming around,
His gills like a lion's mane
(chorus)

So yeah. That's it. If anyone's into music theory, I played around with keys a little bit. The first chord is A minor, but then it acts like it's in C, and then it goes into V/V (A major into D7) then into G, and the chorus is A major with a mixture chord, d minor.

I think it sounds cool! And it really does follow the rules of tonality. Not that I was aiming for that but everything I write just happens to go in that direction.

Yay Piña!

--Stephy

The Wrath of Ken

2008-01-27T11:03:00.000-08:00

"Did you get my e-mail?" Paul, the symphonic band conductor, asked as he signed the paper.

"Uh, yeah," I said. "I think so."

We were in the instrument shop. He gave me the form that would let me check out the A clarinet.

"So do you know of any trumpets I could get for symphonic band? I was hoping you could get someone from the marching band."

"I wish," I said. "I've already talked to everyone I could think of."

We wondered toward the hallway. "Of course, there's always you," Paul muttered, "but I'd be afraid to face the wrath of Ken."

"Haha, yeah," I said as we parted ways. Ken is my clarinet teacher. If I could help in the area of trumpets, I would. But alas, scholarship conditions dictate my instrumental choices. I am a whore of the music department. I do what they want and they pay me.

Do Pandas Have Tattoos?

2008-01-23T14:49:00.000-08:00

It took me so freaking long to figure out how this could work. But I've finally got it. For your instant gratification. :)

Sweet Green Icing – Do Pandas Have Tattoos?

Well, here it is. My first song. Not my first ever. But my first recording. Sorry my voice isn't the best ever. I'm not a vocalist, I'm a musician. I mean, an instrumentalist. At least I am always on pitch. I got A's in all four semesters of ear training.

Anyway, I was nervous about the recording thing so that's more like my talking voice than my singing voice. I also didn't realize how horribly California I sound. I'm sorry. People just talk like that here. It sounds retarded, but that is the California way. (By retarded, of course, I mean totally awesome, dude. Trippy. Righteous?)

Lyrics:

Today I woke up wondering
Do pandas have tattoos?
And then I wondered,
Do the tattoos also have tattoos?
And then there was a neverending cycle
Of pandas having tattoos.
But then I realized,
That there is no way
That pandas have tattoos
Because
Pandas have fur!
They have fur!
But because they're endangered,
They probably have piercings.

--Stephy

Limit Your Consumption

2008-01-23T11:20:00.000-08:00

Picture this: You're bored to tears in the middle of a hot summer day, inside the house maybe watching the tube or finishing a puzzle, when suddenly something reminiscent of a cherry-red wrecking ball smashes through the wall with brute force. Though you are terrified that your house has been destroyed, you find sweet, high fructose relief when you hear a familiar "Oh yeahhhh!"

You have just encountered the Kool-Aid Man.

According to Wikipedia, the Kool-Aid Man was born in 1975, 48 years after his father Kool-Aid was invented. His mother, Glass Pitcher, has been around since perhaps the Late Bronze Age. You can see how they would be attracted to one another. Both come first in powder form, Glass as sand, Kool-Aid as Kool-Aid powder. Both are seemingly useless at this stage (except for sugar-crazy kids and sand castle enthusiasts) but after a variety of chemical changes become something completely new. It was love at first sight, and the young (?) couple married and wasted no time in having their one child, Kool-Aid Man.

However, that is where the list of similarities comes to an end. While both Kool-Aid and Glass can be considered liquids, the father often questioned the Pitcher's true form. They also had a huge age difference. They spent many nights fighting, and as a child it quite upset the young Kool-Aid Man. He did poorly in school because he was both starved for attention, and also had ADHD. Small doses of crystal fructose were the only thing that calmed him down.

Eventually, around the 90's, he started losing control of his fructose habits. During one of his blackouts he smashed through the wall of a K-mart in Missouri screaming, "OH YEAHHH!" A local talent agent hooked him up with his own spot on TV. His "Oh yeahhh!" campaign was a recipe for success: a giant glass pitcher busting through walls with a crowd of happy kids eager to consume his contents. He was a celebrity among kids and pre-teens alike.

However, things started to go haywire when the paparazzi caught him under the influence (of zombies) and posted the video of him eating people all over the Internet. The general public started to fear him, including Dane Cook:

"Don't touch me, you drink!"? Ouch, Dane. An enormous pitcher of liquid's ego is likely to deflate easily.

That wasn't the only way people started harrassing the Kool-Aid man. Webcomics and T-shirts alike depicted him losing his ever-futile battle between him and his addiction, busting through walls, spilling over, screaming "Oh yeahhh."

People don't realize that this is not part of the solution. The Kool-Aid man sought counseling in 2004. He needed to see that by consuming chemicals and destroying things, you only create more problems for yourself while losing the respect and support of your friends and family. And he did. He's cleaned up his act, lost a lot of weight, and got a new outfit. He has also learned that his appetite for attention can be better satisfied in an artistic environment and since has taken several acting courses. You can see for yourself how the Kool-Aid Man is doing here.

--Stephy

Grandpa

2008-01-20T11:48:00.000-08:00

When I was 15 we spent Easter Sunday at our cousins' house. It was boring, pretty much, considering that nobody in my dad's side of the family is really religious at all. But at the same time, even though my cousins only lived 45 minutes away we didn't see each other that often.

My grandpa was also there, my dad's dad. Kickin' it at 87, he had thin white hair, thick glasses and always wore a one-piece flying suit. My dad always talks about how similar we are, from our tastes for pineapple ice cream to our analytical thinking processes to our general tolerance of other people. He was the nicest, funniest old man (maybe even person) I've ever met, and I've met some good ones.

He sat on the couch with my mom, my sister Megan and me. "You ladies really love your music, don't you?" he said.

"Oh yes," my mom said. "Stephanie is getting really good at piano and playing clarinet in the school's marching band, and Megan's singing in the vocal ensemble at her school. Janet's learning clarinet as well."

"Well," my grandpa said, "I've got an old cornet that my friend gave to me awhile back. He played for a living. I've always wanted to learn, but I can barely play the phonograph, so I'll give it to you guys."

"Wow you guys!" my mom said. "A cornet! This will be great for Megan, because she has the lips for it."

I don't really know what my mom was thinking when she thought she could evaluate what kind of lips are suitable for playing brass. But soon it sat in Megan's room, all nice and ready to be played.

After a few weeks I hadn't even heard her try and play it. A musical instrument. In the house. That I didn't know how to play. I'd always wondered how brass worked.

So I downloaded a fingering chart from the Internet and when she was at a friend's house I "borrowed" the cornet and learned to play it fluently within two weeks. It's not that impressive because at that point I also knew piano, clarinet and bass guitar.

Of course my sister got all mad and then realized that it would be better off if I just had it, so she gave it to me. (That's also how I acquired my ukulele. Poor Megan.)

Only a month after we had acquired the cornet my grandpa went in for quadruple bypass surgery. Since he lived alone in a kind of remote area, the doctors suggested he stay with a family member during his recovery. Out of his four sons he chose my dad's family, because what can I say, we were the most awesome and least pretentious group of the choices. Plus he loved our dog.

It was summertime. I was too young to really get a job (although I occasionally worked archiving files for my mom's boss) and I was over swim team (over=tired of being the slowest one). So I spent my days practicing the cornet and making stuff. Maybe I could play trumpet in the band this year. (I did.) Maybe I could even join the jazz band! (I did!)

My grandpa said, "I really love hearing you play that thing. It reminds me of my son" (my uncle) "when he was a kid. He was a brilliant trumpet player and would have been first chair if the director hadn't put a piece of music in front of him and asked him to play it. He didn't know how to read music!"

That's so cool, I'd say. He then told me of another time when he flew a plane for a famous trumpet player Louis Armstrong. But when they got there, they had misplaced his trumpet, a golden trumpet presented to him by some really famous/royal person! Oh no! No fear, Louis told my grandpa. He pulled his mouthpiece out of his pocket and said This is all he needed to make the same wonderful sound.

We spent many a lovely summer afternoon sitting on the porch with the dog, sipping iced tea and eating sandwiches. I would make a sandwich for him and he would smile and say "Are you fattening me up for the kill?" One time he told me I'll be a beautiful wife someday. That was one of the nicest things I've ever had said to me. We became very good friends that summer.

Anyway, the time came when I graduated high school and dreamed of moving somewhere far away (but still within the state so I could get cheap tuition) to go to college. My grandpa said, "I hope you keep playing your music." I said I will, I'm going to be a music major. Even if my "career" has nothing to do with music. I'll keep playing.

A couple of months into my first semester, my grandpa had a stroke and died. He was 90 years old. My mom said it's okay, he was a really happy man and lived a very fulfilling life. It was still sad to me because he was my friend. My mom said they had a picture of me in his hospital room. My dad told me later (quite a bit later) that I was his favorite and he asked about me all the time. I guess I was making judgements about the fact that he was old, but I didn't think that our time together would really stand out to him. But I guess it did, and proves how much more alike we were than I realized. It was really special to me.

--Stephy

Axolotl Dreams and Ambiturning

2008-01-18T10:55:00.000-08:00

I have two science major roommates. One day a few months ago (almost a year ago, actually) they told me they were going to try and save an axolotl from the evil clutches of science. A few days later, they came home with Piña.

Now, that picture really doesn't do Piña justice. In reality he is adorable like you cannot even imagine. His look is reminiscent of a Pokemon, except better because he's real. Fuzzy red gills surround his face which has little black dots for eyes. When he eats he opens his mouth for a split second while some kind of vacuum forces anything and everything into his stomach. This, in turn, forces his entire body to jump.

And finally, when playtime comes around, his skin changes color from a ghosty white to a full-fledged glow-in-the-dark pink. By that I mean the color of pink stuff that glows in the dark? That color. I must say there is no sight quite like that of a playing pink axolotl.

Now. Ever since we got Piña I've had more dreams about him than I've had about anything else. One time I had a dream that my sister turned into an axolotl and escaped into a lake. Then I had a dream that I became an axolotl and Piña was my axolotl friend. I could go on, but those were several months ago. I thought I was over it.

But nay. Three nights ago I dreamed that Piña had become just a regular old fish. I didn't even notice. Shame on me! The fish acted just like Piña. He got all excited when I opened the tank and said his name. I could have sworn it was Piña until I woke up and thought, "Wait...that's not right..."

And then last night, I had a dream that Piña had become a black axolotl. I looked into his tank and saw the black axolotl and thought, "Well, that's different. But he's still cute!" Sure enough Piña is still white.

I also discovered last night that like Zoolander, I'm not an ambiturner. (I'm also really, really, really, ridiculously good-looking.)

All my life I've sucked at sleeping. No, that's a lie. My first two years of college I was a champion sleeper. I went to sleep and woke up at the same time every single day. I don't know how I did it.

But now I suck at it again. It mostly has to do with something weird in my ribcage that pops. It's not quite like how your back or ankles or knees pop. But it just feels like something is slipping in and out of place when I lie or inhale a certain way. It's been like that for years. Don't know why. But I can't find a comfortable position because that popping occurs when I breathe and it bothers me so.

But last night I realized that when I change positions, I can't turn left. I just. Can't.

That would explain why all my blankets get ripped off my bed one way, and the sheet underneath gets ripped off the other. Ohhh.

Also, I have a catchphrase for Violent Acres: "Sarcasm-infested claws of truth." I made that up before going to sleep. Yeah. It's pretty bad. I am addicted to her writing. I kind of just wanted to use the word "infested."

Wow! I just will not end this post! But I just ordered a crappy computer microphone for ten dollars. So maybe soon I can post my ukulele songs. Give me two nouns and a verb and I will make it into a song. I swear I will. I was famous for this game at the camp I worked at.

--Stephy

The Pen Theif

2008-01-17T00:19:00.000-08:00

My dad was a big fan of the show "Get Smart." He was in elementary school when he came across a problem--his pens kept disappearing. Another kid was stealing them from him, he was sure of it. My dad thought he knew which one it was, too, after yet another one had gone missing.

"Hey," he said to the kid. "You stole my pen."

"No, I didn't," the kid quickly responded. "It's my pen."

"But I just saw you swipe it off my desk."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did," my dad said. But he did not bother tattling over a single pen.

My dad used the kind of pen that clicks on the top so the ball point pokes out the other end. He knew he could prove the kid had stolen it. He swiped the pen back when the kid wasn't looking.

When he went home he unscrewed the top of the pen and poked a hole through the clicker. Then he set up a safety pin, apparently not so safe, on the inside of the pen so the Pen Theif's thumb would get stabbed to death if he dared try and click it.

And so, the next day he left his pen on the desk for all the world to steal, and left his desk to watch from afar, the Pen Theif take his treasure. To start writing he had to click it, so--

"OW!" cried the Pen Theif. A tiny stream of blood trickled down his thumb. Apparently that was the point on the thumb torturers in medieval times used to crush.

And eventually my dad was sent to the principal's office, for the simple crime of delivering a slice of karma to this pen-burgling criminal.

--Stephy

A Stephanie

2008-01-16T19:57:00.000-08:00

I'm in college. I won't lie, I party. Sometimes it's embarrassing. Most of the parties I go to are at my house. There are times when my house will host a party three or four weekends in a row.

One time my roommate, in an over-the-climax-of-the-night state of intoxication, told me her cheeks were involuntarily perky, forcing her face to smile. She said whenever this happens, she is having a Stephanie.

Aww. How flattering.

In elementary school, in the state of California, there is usually a lunch break and something called "snack" recess a few hours before that. Just a fifteen minute break to run around, socialize, burn off all your kid energy before returning to the jail cell of a classroom.

I didn't get it. I liked the jail cell. I didn't understand why we had to waste a bunch of time running around when we could be learning stuff. I guess I was that kind of weird.

I spent most of my recesses walking alone around the perimeter of the playground. I didn't know what else to do. Obviously playing with the other kids wasn't an option? I didn't know. I didn't want them to yell at me for trying to join their game or something.

The black top was speckled and had pretty, colorful shapes and lines painted on it. So I stared at the ground as I traced the border.

One day a girl from my class came up to me. "What's wrong?" she asked.

What's wrong? I had not made the connection that people look at the ground when they are sad. I couldn't think of anything to complain about. Not that I would ever do that as a kid anyway. "Nothing," I said. "I'm good."

"Okay!" she said and ran away.

This happened several times over the next three years. Then I realized: If I have nothing to complain about, then I must be happy, right? Happy people smile. If I smile, people won't bother me to ask what's wrong when nothing is wrong. So I started smiling all the time.

Except I never realized it was a habit until my sophomore year of high school, when I took Spanish I. The teacher was still trying to learn who we were. "Ah, Stephanie," she said during roll call. "The one with the big smile."

I didn't think anything of it at first. I didn't want to just look at her with no expression.

But then she started saying it almost every single day during roll call. "There she is with the smile!" And then it evolved! Instead of saying my name she would just say "Smiley?"

I will now interrupt my story with a rant about nicknames and about how people speculate things. I don't go around verbalizing every single behavior of someone I interact with, to them. So don't give me a nickname about how I behave when I see other people. I was taught to always treat people nicely. I am a shy person who can't always muster up the words to communicate pleasantries clearly. So I use my facial expression.

That nickname, Smiley, is creepy. Nobody always smiles, including me. Just the implication that I do makes me feel somehow very conflicted. I only want to acknowledge people who acknowledge me, without having to say anything. And now I'm being punished for it with a stupid creepy nickname?

It spread around to the point where my classmates started calling me Smiles. It bothered me so, but I only verbalized that once, to a friend who was in a couple of classes with me.

Then, my freshman year of college, one of my guy friends started calling me Smiley. I don't know why. I hate it. So. Much. Again, I don't go around naming other people based on their facial expressions. Someone else had to tell him I didn't like it. "Why didn't you just tell me?" he asked.

Just tell you. Like it's that easy. I feel like such a teenager when I think this, but people don't understand how hard it is for me to just talk to people. But that's a topic for another discussion.

Back at the party, my roommate describes the sensation of her face forcibly becoming a smile and calls it a Stephanie. That somehow doesn't bother me so much. Because I never even think about it when I smile. My face just does that on its own.

And it's interesting, whenever I don't smile I'm called on it. Once I was in Raley's, the grocery store, with my friend and her mom waiting for them to do shopping and my mom to come pick me up there. I stood by the door with all my school stuff, tired, damp from rain. Suddenly I hear a voice say "Smile! It's almost Valentine's!" I looked up from the ground to see a random scruffy middle-aged man in a wheel chair. I didn't care at all about Valentine's, but just the fact that I'd been seen in public not smiling struck my attention. Once I was trapped in one of those "Do you ever not smile?" conversations when a friend said, "I saw Stephanie not smile once!"

I guess I can't complain!

The Most Awesome Hiker

2008-01-16T01:23:00.000-08:00

It was about one o'clock in the afternoon, and the breeze whispered though the trees. A sixth grade me continued to trudge over the vague dirt trail. I carried nothing but a bottle full of green water I'd filled at the halfway point and a gigantic white T-shirt with "Bullfrog Pond" screenprinted across the front.

There were people with me at first. My sixth grade science camp group was with me, the girls in my cabin. But they were practically running up the hill, and I didn't want to do that. So I joined the slower people. Little by little, the slower group dissolved. Once we reached the destination it became just me. And I did the simple, logical thing any sixth grader hiking alone would do: go back the way we came and look for the short cut I'd used before.

Well, apparently, the short cut I found was a long cut. Hiking alone, I didn't really care. There was nobody here to make fun of me except the trees. I started to sing such classics like "I've Been Working On the Railroad" and "Old MacDonald." There loomed a seemingly limitless freedom at an age when social pressure demanded restraint.

I ceased my howling of random children's songs when I realized someone was following me. Eventually, as I kept moving forward, I realized it was Mr. LaRash, one of the teachers. Why was he following me? Was I actually the slowest kid in the hike?

No, apparently I was the lost kid in the hike. I didn't even realize until we reached some place--some completely random place that was nothing like where we started from--and all the people there, my peers, their parents, the teachers and bus drivers, started clapping for me. Why? I didn't know. I didn't even know I'd been missing.

Really, they didn't need to send out a search party. I would have hitch-hiked my way home anyway.

The next morning they gave out awards. I got the "Most Awesome Hiker" award, which made no sense to me. It felt more like the "Clueless Person Whom Nobody Tells That They're Going On The Way Back From The Extremely Long Hike" Award, but maybe that wouldn't have fit on the paper. I could not process the teachers' attempts at irony at this stage of my mentality.

Two years later, they took the ten-mile hike out of the science camp itinerary. What a shame. :)

--Stephy

Mom and Dad

2008-01-15T20:48:00.000-08:00

I am a very lucky person.

I grew up as the kid of my parents, Mom and Dad. Mom was born on October 22, 1961 in a place called Yonkers, New York. Her parents had lived their previous lives in England before they came there. When she was five years old, her parents moved her and her younger sister from the East Coast to the San Francisco Bay Area, where she grew up and spent a chunk of her young adult life.

Dad was born on January 31, 1954. I don't really know where. He grew up the youngest of four brothers, in San Mateo. He was the sixth generation of the family to be born in California. His father, my grandpa, was a pilot. His mom knew how to shoot a tin can thrown in the air.

Mom was eighteen, and her sister was sixteen, when her parents divorced. They moved to an apartment on their own, where they lied about their ages. Mom worked at Wells Fargo Bank for a long time. Her father wanted her to become a nurse, but a semester of nightmares at nursing school destroyed that ambition. Eventually she got a job at Radio Shack, working her way up the corporate ladder as first a manager, then as the Santa Clara district Secretary.

Dad's family moved to Calaveras County after they bought a gold mine in a town called Sheep Ranch, current population 32. He was in his last year of high school when he went on independent study and moved to Yosemite. There, he got a job as the manager for a bike rental shop. He learned how to play the guitar and played with his feet dangling off Half Dome. His mother died of breast cancer when he was nineteen years old.

Dad held a variety of jobs in a variety of places. Eventually he found himself again on the Southern Peninsula, working in a San Mateo Radio Shack.

That's right. I owe my existence to Radio Shack.

My parents dated for roughly two years, and got married on January 1, 1987. On August 11, I was born. I used to joke that I was conceived on the wedding day. Then I actually did the math and found that to be far from true. It was probably Thanksgiving.

They kept me in the town of Redwood City for roughly a year until we moved to Sacramento and another one arrived on May 21, 1989, a sister Megan. Then we moved yet again to a very small town in Placer County and on May 28, 1991, the last one popped out, my other sister Janet.

We lived a silly and wonderful existence until I decided that high school was finished and wanted to go away for awhile. To do more school, somewhere else, very much unlike what happened to my parents in young adulthood.

Then when I was nineteen, I learned that Mom and Dad no longer liked each other as much as they used to. And so my family, laid-back and goofy in style yet cookie-cutter in form, dissolved on December 31, 2006. Very much like what happened to my parents in young adulthood.

It used to make me very sad. I cried for days and my Christmas was ruined. I felt like I did something wrong, like I wasn't a good enough reason for my parents to be happy together. I felt like they were taking the easy way out, like if only they waited until Janet was gone, they'd have time to untangle the mess and clean out the house and I could have somewhere to return from school that was familiar.

But when you leave your childhood behind, it stays behind forever. You can't go back.

But because my parents are who they are, they provided me with the most happy, enriching life that anyone can imagine. And therefore, I am lucky. Not everyone gets to grow up with a good relationship to both of their parents.

Welcome to my autobiography. :)

--Stephy