Tucson was so wonderful. Truly, I feel much more relaxed and better able to face this semester after almost two weeks of seeing all the people I love most. But now I'm back, and it's raining outside but the sun is shining through and illuminating all the buildings with this uneartly light. I don't know if I've ever seen anything quite like it.
So far I feel good being here, if a little daunted that the first reading assignment for my performative masculinities class is 200 pages long and that I have a lot of playing going on for the next week and a half or so. Nothing much has happened, really. Which is okay, frankly, as when things happen they frequently suck. I just started reading a book of poetry by Mary Oliver (that's where this entry's title comes from), and I love her writing already.
I haven't posted a recipe in a long time, but I made some kick-ass lentils and rice last night. I think the key was putting in a lot of pepper, it really gave them a great flavor. I put a bay leaf and some chopped garlic into the pot while they were boiling, and then just lots of salt and pepper and marjoram afterwards. I topped it with Tofutti fake sour cream, and it was delicious.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Monday, March 21, 2005
i saw the president wave, maybe
I spent my morning at the TCC, basically standing around waiting for Bush to drive by. It was a much more emotional experience than I would have thought. I got the around 10 and couldn't find anybody I knew (except Brian, who told me about Students for Fair Trade and his take on them, interesting), and then people kept telling us to go over here, go over there... I ended up near the entrance, where all the people going in to hear the speech were filing in. I wish so much that I hadn't been there; I was so sickened by the anger, hatred, righteous rage, namecalling, and such that I am sure I looked horrified the whole time. This man next to me kept screaming "Sheep! To the slaughter, BAAAAAAHHHH!" which sounds funny in type but really just contained this level of utter hatred that I can't even get my mind around, really. And this towards people who, although I almost certainly don't agree with on many levels, were just walking by with their little children and families and whatever. I don't think that I can direct that kind of personal spite towards people that I don't know much of anything about. It really bothered me a lot.
Anyway, so eventually they made us move again, across the street from the center. A bunch of motorcycle and foot cops lined up in front of where I was, and after a while of standing around in the sun a big-ass convoy of motorcycles, SUV's and two limos drove by and pulled in. People went crazy, screaming, booing and waving signs. I was silent, unable to think of anything that could adequately convey how I was feeling and so struck dumb by emotion and conflicting feelings. After he drove by, everybody clapped for themselves essentially, saying "We did it!" (what did we do? We booed someone through bullet-proof glass from 40 or 50 feet away. He deserved it, but I still didn't feel any great degree of accomplishment from that.) Then practically everybody left. I stayed around waiting for various friends to show up, and by the time Erica arrived he was leaving again and the whole thing repeated. A girl, maybe 10 or a little older, apparently crossed some sort of line and was arrested by about 7 cops, with her hands cuffed behind her back and everything. There was also another, slightly older woman who got the same treatment. They were the only people I saw arrested, although there may have been more. I hope the little girl is okay; what happens when someone so young gets arrested? Right after that, the cops let all the speech-goers cross the street, and I left to avoid a repeat of the name-calling yucky-feelings incident from earlier.
All of this has made me feel so weird. I feel like we did a good job getting a lot of bodies there, but I hate listening to so much of what goes on at protests. Everybody has a very specific agenda, it seems like, and we all just sit around and tell them to each other. That, and the hatred really gets to me. Yes, I hate Bush for doing so much crappy stuff, but I can't believe that everybody listening to him doesn't, on some level, think that they are trying to do something good. Nobody wants their children to die, or the air to become poison. I can't understand being a republican or a conservative, but that doesn't mean I have to blindly hate them all. I don't know. I guess I still kind of go with I won't hate you until I know at least something about you.
Anyway, so eventually they made us move again, across the street from the center. A bunch of motorcycle and foot cops lined up in front of where I was, and after a while of standing around in the sun a big-ass convoy of motorcycles, SUV's and two limos drove by and pulled in. People went crazy, screaming, booing and waving signs. I was silent, unable to think of anything that could adequately convey how I was feeling and so struck dumb by emotion and conflicting feelings. After he drove by, everybody clapped for themselves essentially, saying "We did it!" (what did we do? We booed someone through bullet-proof glass from 40 or 50 feet away. He deserved it, but I still didn't feel any great degree of accomplishment from that.) Then practically everybody left. I stayed around waiting for various friends to show up, and by the time Erica arrived he was leaving again and the whole thing repeated. A girl, maybe 10 or a little older, apparently crossed some sort of line and was arrested by about 7 cops, with her hands cuffed behind her back and everything. There was also another, slightly older woman who got the same treatment. They were the only people I saw arrested, although there may have been more. I hope the little girl is okay; what happens when someone so young gets arrested? Right after that, the cops let all the speech-goers cross the street, and I left to avoid a repeat of the name-calling yucky-feelings incident from earlier.
All of this has made me feel so weird. I feel like we did a good job getting a lot of bodies there, but I hate listening to so much of what goes on at protests. Everybody has a very specific agenda, it seems like, and we all just sit around and tell them to each other. That, and the hatred really gets to me. Yes, I hate Bush for doing so much crappy stuff, but I can't believe that everybody listening to him doesn't, on some level, think that they are trying to do something good. Nobody wants their children to die, or the air to become poison. I can't understand being a republican or a conservative, but that doesn't mean I have to blindly hate them all. I don't know. I guess I still kind of go with I won't hate you until I know at least something about you.
Monday, March 14, 2005
home again
Finally, after one of the worse weeks of my life (or so it seems), I am home. I'm going to Tucson tomorrow, and I spent these last two days having a remarkably good time with my parents. I managed to finish up school in a timely manner, making a new zine and staying up til all hours doing things like deciding what exactly deserved to be referenced, but I like the finished product pretty well (I brought extra copies so at least some people can have some, if I see you and if you want them). I also played about four concerts and watched a drag show (yay!) which included an excellent version of that cheesy song from Flashdance. And I dressed for the occasion, which is always fun. Anyway, i should really be sleeping right now (I'm leaving early tomorrow), but maybe I'll post a better summary of my time back later on. Yay for much-needed breaks!
Sunday, March 06, 2005
one of those gigs
I have been really busy this past week, trying to get everything done before I leave for Arizona on Friday. But today, I took time out to play a gig, mostly because it paid $100 for a few hours of essentially just sight-reading some pieces and playing a concert with a community orchestra.
Things started getting interesting when we all realized that the guy who had organized that gig was planning for four people, three violin and viola cases, assorted coats, and a string bass to fit in a car that was on the small end of midsized. We ended up having to stick the scroll (the top part, the curly thing on the end) out of the window maybe a foot, and then two people squished into chairs behind the bass and the other two people sat up front. The bass player was understandably worried about hitting something and breaking the top of his bass off, and I realized about halfway there that, in my prime position squished right up on the edge of the instrument, that if anything hit the bass head-on I would probably be killed or severely injured. I got all freaked out by the prospect of such an untimely and unfortunate death that I spent the rest of the trip with my arms crossed in front of my chest in the vague hope that, if we did hit something, perhaps I would only crush my forearms.
As we were leaving the school, the gig-setter-upper was also being vague about when we were supposed to be there. He kept saying it didn't matter, that rehearsal would just happen when we got there, which seemed fairly unlikely. And yes, we were about 45 minutes late, which pissed the conductor off, and then there was no music for me, which was problematic, and we missed the run-through of the hardest piece... Also, something that the gig boy had insinuated would be a short, easy piece ended up being an entire symphony, which I had luckily played before. The concert was scary, sightreading Prokofiev (which is hard) and trying to follow a conductor who was not, in all honesty, very good. At least I got my money, which will be at least partly used for a nice dinner in Tucson. My neck is all sore tonight, presumably from bass-induced tension, and I'm just glad it's all over. Now all I have left this week is two concerts, a zine to make about transgressively gendered musicians, and a suitcase to pack.
Things started getting interesting when we all realized that the guy who had organized that gig was planning for four people, three violin and viola cases, assorted coats, and a string bass to fit in a car that was on the small end of midsized. We ended up having to stick the scroll (the top part, the curly thing on the end) out of the window maybe a foot, and then two people squished into chairs behind the bass and the other two people sat up front. The bass player was understandably worried about hitting something and breaking the top of his bass off, and I realized about halfway there that, in my prime position squished right up on the edge of the instrument, that if anything hit the bass head-on I would probably be killed or severely injured. I got all freaked out by the prospect of such an untimely and unfortunate death that I spent the rest of the trip with my arms crossed in front of my chest in the vague hope that, if we did hit something, perhaps I would only crush my forearms.
As we were leaving the school, the gig-setter-upper was also being vague about when we were supposed to be there. He kept saying it didn't matter, that rehearsal would just happen when we got there, which seemed fairly unlikely. And yes, we were about 45 minutes late, which pissed the conductor off, and then there was no music for me, which was problematic, and we missed the run-through of the hardest piece... Also, something that the gig boy had insinuated would be a short, easy piece ended up being an entire symphony, which I had luckily played before. The concert was scary, sightreading Prokofiev (which is hard) and trying to follow a conductor who was not, in all honesty, very good. At least I got my money, which will be at least partly used for a nice dinner in Tucson. My neck is all sore tonight, presumably from bass-induced tension, and I'm just glad it's all over. Now all I have left this week is two concerts, a zine to make about transgressively gendered musicians, and a suitcase to pack.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
speaking of which...
From Berlin this past summer. I took about three pictures of scenic things, and then this sign and also a stuffed banana doll with aerobic wear on. Sigh...
new and shiny!
Oooh, a new template! Actually the same one but a different color, but I take what I can get in terms of excitement. Also a somewhat funny picture of me once again grinning like a fool. I have a lot of kind of funny pictures of myself, it turns out. I think I use my camera a lot more for amusement purposes than for any sort of practical use.
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