Xmas day 2008 a la Scotland

Slept 'till 2:30 (let's blame that on the jet lag). Ate toast and tea. Phoned the fam. Cooked sausages and pears, sweet potatoes and broccoli (pics to follow). Ate and drank (two bottles of wine between the two of us I'm afraid...and a vodka tonic). Watched Love Actually. Passed out on the couch. Woke up at 2am. Listened to music and sang.

Merry Christmas!

Just because it's Christmas, (And at Christmas you tell the truth)...

I've seen Love Actually probably 200 something odd times. (Actually, maybe 500 times or maybe just 75 times. I'm terrible at estimating. "How many people were at the party last night," you ask? "Oh, I don't know...somewhere between 15 and 97.")

I mention this excessive viewing of Love Actually to explain my obsession with the clip below and the logic behind the seemingly illogical and annoyingly teenage-girl-crush feel of the following statements (but hey, didn't someone say 26 is the new 16?):

1. I'm going to be in Heathrow airport for several hours on Christmas Eve morning.
2. I'm going to meet Andrew Lincoln in line at the Heathrow airport starbucks whilst ordering a British latte.
3. When this happens, sorry, piano students and college kids, friends and neighbors, I'm leaving Texas! I'm moving to London immediately for the sole purpose of being Mark-from-Love-Actually's girlfriend. I, like any self-respecting independent woman, will gladly give up my career goals for my celebrity crush. Suddenly I feel like baking...
4. I need to go to bed so I can get my beauty rest and pick out a good outfit for the plane.



One last thing in the spirit of Christmasy disclosure. I really do love that Dido song, "Here With Me." I can't help myself.

And with that I'll say goodnight to the world wide interweb. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I'll catch you on the other side of the proverbial pond!!!

"Tell me anything you want, Any old lie will do, Call me back to, Back to you..."

I'm adding these lyrics from Fleet Foxes' Ragged Wood to this list. This line is always stuck in my head and I like it there.

"I believe...I believe...It's silly but I believe..."

My all time favorite Christmas movie.



And why don't men look like this anymore?? Sigh...

Because sometimes it's about the words...

My favorite song lyrics of 2008 (in no particular order):

From Bon Iver's For Emma:
"Go find another lover,
To bring...to string along,
With all your lies,
You're still very lovable..."

From Chairlift's Bruises:
"I tried to do handstands for you, I tried to do handstands for you
Every time I fell on you, yeah, every time I fell.
I tried to do handstands for you, but every time I fell for you
I'm permanently black and blue
Permanently blue for you.

I grabbed some frozen strawberries so I could ice your bruising knees,
But frozen things they all unfreeze and now I taste like...
All those frozen strawberries I used to ice your bruising knees,
Hot July ain't good to me
I'm pink and black and blue for you."

From Chairlift's Evident Utensil:
"The most evident utensil is none other than a pencil..."

From Blind Pilot's Oviedo:
"You'll be having my head big as a birthday,
Cause I left all my doubts on the airplane,
I didn't know, I didn't know, I'm not in control,
I didn't know I'm not invincible.
Maybe some things are better left unsaid
But if you wanted to test that out well,
Yeah, I guess, you could...
There were nights in bars that I recall,
Your breath was courage laced with alcohol..."

From Andy Dunlop's Aliens (not actually from 2008...but I found it this year so it counts in my mind):
"I've been speaking with aliens.
They've agreed to abduct everyone but you,
So we can start again.
Oh, come on the aliens, my friends, the aliens,
Sweet little aliens, come on,
So we can start again."

From Fleet Foxes' He Doesn't Know Why:
"Penniless and tired with your hair grown long
I was looking at you there and your face looked wrong
Memory is a fickle siren song,
I didn't understand..."

From Blind Pilot's The Story I Heard:
"Oh, 'cause the story I heard
Is that people are bored
And the measures you take
To wrestle with your Lord
All the money you take
All the memories you spill
Will he measure your tongue?
Will he measure your will?"

From Vampire Weekend's Oxford Comma:
"Why would you speak to me that way
Especially when I always said that I
Haven't got the words for you
All your diction dripping with disdain
Through the pain, I always tell the truth...

Why would you lie about how much coal you have?
Why would you lie about something dumb like that?
Why would you lie about anything at all?
First the window, then it's to the wall,
Lil' Jon, he always tells the truth."

Got myself a whiiirlitzer....

Brad, my gay maid, gave me an organ. (Yes, i have a gay guy clean my house twice a month. Embarrassing. But also really, really great. And totally worth the money. I hate dusting and mopping.) By the way, if you met Brad-the-maid, you'd know why I can't mention him without using the qualifying phrase "gay maid." The first time I spoke with Brad he told me, in what can only be described as a flamboyant texas drawl, that he was "just passionate about cleaning" and that he would never look through my personal things as he "is just NOT into drama, honey." Anyway, my gay maid offered me an antique 1965 Wurlitzer organ in pristine condition for $300. It was his grandmother's. Since I don't have $300 to spend on an organ, I said no. Then he called me back and offered me the organ in exchange for five piano lessons. He wants the organ to have a good home. And he wants to learn how to play show tunes on the piano. Deal.






(foot pedals).

When I was in college, I had to take two semesters of a "second instrument." My piano teacher said to me, "Oh, just take organ and harpsichord. Easy A's." He didn't want me to get distracted by learning some silly instrument like guitar or violin or clarinet. Just get an easy A on a keyboard instrument and get back to practicing piano. And so I signed up for organ. The glitch in the plan was that my organ professor turned out to be the organ nazi and organ lessons proved to be a rather intense challenge. Really, it was those goddamn foot pedals that got me down. Anyway, I managed to learn Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor and a few foot scales. But, I was miserable. I hated it. The organ nazi was not impressed with my bullshit practice. She gave me a B for the semester. She totally missed the, "this is an easy A" memo. She ruined my perfect 4.0 in college. That one, stupid, stupid, organ lesson kept me from a perfect 4.0. (I know, I know, over-achiever, dork, blah, blah...). But, I'll never forgive her or her stupid fucking foot scales.

All this college organ lesson trauma left a bad taste in my mouth and I used to hate the organ. On the flip side, I've always been fascinated by its sound. There is really nothing like an organ. No other instrument has its capability for range in sound; it is at once grand, intense, intimate, powerful, and technically precise and complex. My relationship with the organ is a love/hate relationship.

Right now, all I got for the organ is love. In fact, I love my new old organ so bad that I've completely forgotten about the organ nazi and my college GPA.

Also, I can still play Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor. So next time my obnoxious upstairs neighbors decide to vacuum at 3:00a.m., or drop huge loud heavy things, or have loud sex, they will be subjected to my B-grade organ skills and my Wurlitzer organ's swell pedal! A real life Midnight Organ Fight...

For that healthy after-birth shine every woman longs for...

Another stop I made tonight along the procrastination highway was a quick trip to my local CVS to pick up some shampoo. I don't like the shampoo I have right now so I spent some serious time on the shampoo aisle researching my options. You know the classic, "this one gives your hair body but it doesn't protect color/this one protects color but weighs your hair down/this one gives your hair body and protects color but costs $20" dilemma. So hard.

Anyway, while perusing I came across this bottle:



Which got me thinking. We've got a lot of problems in this country of ours: lack of affordable health care, the bursting of a housing bubble, wars, credit crunches, inflation then deflation, governors who sell senate seats, and the list goes on... But, is it possible that all these very serious issues are the result of a deeper problem with America in general (and free market capitalism specifically)? Namely, that people can make money selling a product called Placenta Shampoo. PLACENTA SHAMPOO!!??

Which got me thinking about simple economics. Someone gets a paycheck, pays for their kids' college tuition, and buys groceries every week because they work for a company that makes money selling Placenta Shampoo. The company makes money because people buy Placenta Shampoo. Just think, someone somewhere gets up every morning and washes their hair with Placenta Shampoo. Now, while I didn't take the time in CVS to check the ingredients listed on the back of the bottle, I'm pretty sure there are no actual human placentas (placentae?) in this shampoo. Still, the name itself is bad enough. You'd have to be crazy to pick it up off the shelf. And if you're crazy enough to buy Placenta Shampoo, you probably also bought a house you couldn't afford and ran up credit card debt so high that now you are broke because you defaulted on your mortgage and can't pay your bills. Which means you can no longer afford the finer things in life (i.e. Placenta Shampoo). Which means the poor factory worker at Placenta Shampoos Inc. loses his job and can no longer pay his kids' college tuition.

Which leads me to two conclusions: #1. Our economy is in shambles because some idiot somewhere washes his/her hair in Placenta Shampoo every day. And #2. The worst dating scenario you could possibly encounter in life would be to go to the bathroom in your date's apartment or house and spot a bottle Placenta Shampoo in their shower. It's what one might call a "red flag."

I spent a lot of time tonight changing the look of this blog...

Q. Why did I do this tonight?

A. Because I have 50 quizzes to grade and a final exam to write by tomorrow morning at 8am.

Please note that this superfluous and unnecessary blog redecorating occurred at 12:30am after I went over to a friend's house for champagne for three hours instead of doing work. So, once again I will get up at 4am to get done what I could have done at a reasonable hour. Further proof that I will win, hands down, any procrastination-off to which I am challenged.

Sobering thought: I have managed to accomplish many things (some even rather efficiently and successfully) despite this nasty wait-til-the-last-minute habit. At times I'm even proud of my procrastination skills as noted here. However, I do wonder if, in the long run, my procrastination addiction will hinder me from achieving some serious goals and dreams. This is a scary thought. Fuck.

5 unrelated but true things...

1. I made a kid cry in his piano lesson this week. Really, though, he needs to practice. Life lessons and shit.
2. My roommate and I thought there were mice in our walls for weeks. We figured out tonight the squeaking is just a tree branch that rubs against our window. Whew.
3. I think Fleet Foxes made the best album of the year. I was wavering, distracted by other worthy contenders. And then it got cold today and I listened to "Your Protector," "Tiger Mountain Peasant Song," "Ragged Wood," and "Blue Ridge Mountains." The whole damn thing is brilliant. They are incredible live. Harmonies that fit like a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle. Haunting lyrics ("Penniless and tired, with your hair grown long, I was looking at you there and your face looked wrong, Memory is a fickle siren song, I didn't understand"). And the beginning of "Your Protector" is reminiscent of Debussy (think Clair de lune). Need I say more?
4. I ate stale two-day-old homemade Ghirardelli chocolate brownies for lunch today. Gross. But also a little delicious. Except for the stale part. Whatevs.
5. I'm a little tipsy right now.

Night...

Die Fledermaus Flop.

My notes on The Dallas Opera's opening night production of Die Fledermaus (12/5): unedited and uncut.

1. Lost in Translation: Strauss in English. I get it. An attempt to contextualize and translate the nineteenth-century operetta idiom into twenty-first-century language. I get it. But I don't have to like it.

2. On humor: Nineteenth-century operetta was snarky, sarcastic, political, and witty. It was relevant and funny. I like the idea of using contemporary references to update and modernize the concept. There is no need for us to pretentiously sit back and pretend to get jokes about the Austrian empire when we can change things up a bit and actually laugh at our own society. However, do it well or don't do it. There was one rather funny quip about Sarah Palin Friday night, but beyond that, the humor was base and insulting. Can't we all agree to avoid subjecting Strauss to jokes about football stadiums or tollways?? Also, slapstick humor involving stumbling up stairs is funny once or maybe thrice, but beyond that it is uncomfortably unfunny.

3. Ana María Martínez is a great Rosalinde. I thoroughly enjoyed her rich, warm, tone. She was one of the few on stage who projected effortlessly.

4. The women, as a whole, outshone the men. Wolfgang Holzmair as Eisenstein is too flitting and transparent for me. Also, he was creepy in the child molester/rapist kind of way. I can't pinpoint why...just a feeling.

5. Set and choreography get two thumbs up!

6. The chorus sounded tight and brilliant and was an asset to the second act.

7. The Winspear needs to open now. Or yesterday. Or last year. Or 10 years ago. Watching opera at fair park has always and continues to suck. The building is depressing, dated, and has terrible acoustics. Every time I go I am reminded of how much I hate it. Which leads me to my final note (which is actually an open letter to dallas opera-goers)...

8. Dear pretentious Dallas opera-goers, I've been doing some thinking and have concluded that it is ridiculous to continue to pull out the furs and the diamonds and the tuxedos and the capes when attending operas at fair park. (And yes, I saw someone in attendance wearing an actual cape. Good god, people!) Anyway, can't we all agree the place is crap and just wear jeans until next year?? Of course I mean designer jeans. And, since this is Dallas, I'd be disappointed if I saw a pair of jeans unaccompanied by heels. But, really, let's just throw in the towel on this one and save the tux for next year. Sincerely, Me.

Long December and there's reason to believe, maybe this year will be better than the last...

I always get nostalgic in December. Maybe reflective is a better word. Not only is it the end of a calendar year, it's also my birthday month. Then, of course, there are the holidays and time with family and, since my life has always been organized around an academic calender, the end of yet another long semester...

I had big expectations for my 25th year (a.k.a 2008). Not sure why. Just seemed the time to make things happen.

And I suppose I did make things happen. I tried things and succeeded. I tried things and failed. I memorized everything I possibly could about music history, theory, and pedagogy. I took (and passed) two graduate comprehensive examinations. I stayed up all night in a library and analyzed Schoenberg's Op. 25. I skipped a lot of classes. I procrastinated. I taught class sober. I taught class hungover. I dyed my hair. I had the most memorable, fun, and ridiculous Valentine's day of my life. I went to Boston and did super cool original research at Harvard. I felt really big and really small. I earned my first of two Masters degrees and felt all at once that I was finally proud of myself and that the whole thing was a giant fucking waste of time. I taught a hell of a lot of kids how to play the piano. I moved into a new house. I bought real furniture. I read Plath and Salinger and James and Hemingway by the pool during the laziest summer of my life. I got my first official "professor" job. I went to California for the first time (hello, west coast, you are pretty damn cool!). I slept in the grass one night. I wrote half of my thesis for my second masters degree. I went to the symphony by myself. I went to the symphony with other people. I had fun with several cute boys. I was miserable over a couple of them. I passed half of a French exam. I failed half of a French exam. I caucused. I voted. I quit practicing piano for the first time since I was 6. I still played a hell of a lot of piano. I drank too much. I smoked too much. I learned that I have a hard time getting close to people. I continued to try to figure out what I believe about (or if i believe in) god. I continued to try to figure out who I want to be as a person. I cried a great deal. I gained 5 lbs. I spent too much money. I was completely broke. I listened - really listened - to music more than I ever have before. I bought a stupidly expensive plane ticket to Scotland. I watched operas. I stressed over the demise of yet another piece of crap car. I bought yet another used car. I ate a lot of tacos.

I'm really tired. Actually, I can't remember a December in which I wasn't exhausted. I wonder if I'll always live my life in a way that leaves me feeling spent and worn. (That statement was a little dramatic. Half of me wants to let the backspace/delete key swallow up the words "spent" and "worn" and type something more sensible.) I'm leaving the sentence because I'm tired. I'm not too tired to hit "delete," but too tired to care. I need to wonder these things.

Will life slow down?

Do I want it to slow down?

Because it's three weeks 'til Christmas...

...and I'm writing the final exam for my MUHI1306 kids:




My favorite part is the little flying Erlking (Schubert Sextuplets). Perhaps I'll suggest this as a study tool.

Leavin' On a Jet Plane...

Exactly three weeks from right-this-very-moment I will be sitting in an airplane heading to the good ol' U.K. to spend some quality holiday time with the sister. (Question: Is it "in" or "on" an airplane??? I feel "in" is more technically correct...but then again, you're definitely "on" the plane...)

I love planes.

These are my favorite airplane playlist songs:

There are a few random songs on here that i'm slightly embarrassed to have included (i.e. gwen stefani, the dixie chicks, and clair de fucking lune). Just know these songs remind me very personally and specifically of very personal and specific plane rides. Judge not lest ye be judged. Also note, despite the title of this post, I will never actually listen to "Leavin' On a Jet Plane" on a jet plane. I'm morally opposed.