On the plus side, I can talk again. Sort of. On the less-plus side, the crazy is back, and it is not in a good mood.
This is not the good kind of crazy. I like those days. They're full of energy and creativity. I feel like I could stay up for days (and sometimes I do). The ideas come so fast that I have to type instead of write by hand, and eventually I have to give up on that and dictate to my computer. Manic times are magnificent.
Today is the bad kind of crazy. Unfortunately my life is basically a really wonky sine curve, and every day of Good Crazy must be paid for in days of Bad Crazy. Also unfortunately, they don't correlate in any kind of logical pattern. Manic day(s)/week(s) are sort of predictable, but depressed days/weeks/months are not. The one nice thing is that there is a kind of slope--the first two or three days get in the way of my life but they're not debilitating--if I have to talk to people I can do it without bursting into tears as the slightest provocation. It gives me a little bit of time to get things in order so that I can spend the next week or so hiding in my closet and not speaking to anyone without seriously interfering with school or work or whatever.
The piano has been helping a lot this time around--this hit me yesterday and I'm still mostly functional after spending three or four hours at the piano playing the same Clementi sonatinas over and over again. I think that I'll make it through the end of finals. I certainly hope so.
Still, it's been pretty bad so far. I spent most of today being unable to form coherent sentences--no subjects, and very little in the way of verbs. I'm having a few good hours right now so I hope that this grammar is acceptable...
Among my friends, we joke about "The Crazy" a lot, and I want to preface the next sentence with the fact that I certainly don't think that should stop. I make plenty of jokes about it myself. But, I also have to deal with it every day. Even during the normal, "0 on the y-axis" times I am constantly aware that it may not last very long, that pretty soon I will start spiraling in one direction or the other, that pretty soon The Crazy and I will be struggling for power.
During manic times I always think that whatever the crash brings, it's totally worth it. Manic times are fantastic, wonderful places. On days like today, and for the next few weeks--maybe this time it will be a few days, maybe a month--I just have to keep repeating to myself: It's worth it, it's worth it, it's worth it...
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Silence Day 3-4, Steve the TA of Ontological Queries Makes My Career
This is not fun. This is not fun, it is annoying, and it really, really sucks.
Also, attending rehearsals in which one is incapable of singing is sort of pointless. Just saying.
I've cheated quite it bit. I'm not even supposed to whisper, but Google told me that there's a difference between a voiced and unvoiced whisper, and unvoiced is okay provided you don't overdo it. Hey, there are some times when I have to talk. Like to the nice guy who does transcripts in the records office--I'll need him later, and I don't want him putting my stuff in the bottom of the pile because he interpreted silence as rudeness. That sort of thing. I still catch myself talking to myself out loud, as well. Unvoiced-whispering-out-loud, but still, I talk to myself a lot, it adds up.
So now I'm at work at the library, which one might think is the best place in the world to work with laryngitis. Sadly no, because engineers, despite being socially awkward people as a group, still demand that you talk to them. But Artsy Sarcastic Librarian made me magic tea, so that's cool. I'm going to be stuck at the North Desk by myself for quite some time, which usually sucks in December, so after it gets dark we'll see how that goes.
--------
As previously stated, Steve the TA of Ontological Queries is not teaching the second half of music history next semester. This is very sad. I may crash the freshman music appreciation class a few times to say hi. He said something in passing, though, which has probably made my career. (I definitely would have run across him eventually, but this just bumped it up a few months.) Richard Taruskin. This dude is amazing. He's the sole author of the 2005 Oxford History of Music. It has six volumes. He also came out with three other books(!) while he was writing the History. Steve said that "he is a genius in the truest sense of the word." I read a little of his work. Steve's not kidding.
What caught my attention was something Steve quoted from Taruskin about the orchestra being a "microcosm of society." This is exactly what I've been working on--well, not exactly. Vocal instead of instrumental, but it's basically the same. It jump-started my brain in that direction again, so I'm working on a companion piece to "Soloist as Stranger," (which goes in for publication review in a few weeks, yay) based off the passage in the History that I found that quote in. So thank you, Steve.
Now all I have to do is be able to say that out loud...
Also, attending rehearsals in which one is incapable of singing is sort of pointless. Just saying.
I've cheated quite it bit. I'm not even supposed to whisper, but Google told me that there's a difference between a voiced and unvoiced whisper, and unvoiced is okay provided you don't overdo it. Hey, there are some times when I have to talk. Like to the nice guy who does transcripts in the records office--I'll need him later, and I don't want him putting my stuff in the bottom of the pile because he interpreted silence as rudeness. That sort of thing. I still catch myself talking to myself out loud, as well. Unvoiced-whispering-out-loud, but still, I talk to myself a lot, it adds up.
So now I'm at work at the library, which one might think is the best place in the world to work with laryngitis. Sadly no, because engineers, despite being socially awkward people as a group, still demand that you talk to them. But Artsy Sarcastic Librarian made me magic tea, so that's cool. I'm going to be stuck at the North Desk by myself for quite some time, which usually sucks in December, so after it gets dark we'll see how that goes.
--------
As previously stated, Steve the TA of Ontological Queries is not teaching the second half of music history next semester. This is very sad. I may crash the freshman music appreciation class a few times to say hi. He said something in passing, though, which has probably made my career. (I definitely would have run across him eventually, but this just bumped it up a few months.) Richard Taruskin. This dude is amazing. He's the sole author of the 2005 Oxford History of Music. It has six volumes. He also came out with three other books(!) while he was writing the History. Steve said that "he is a genius in the truest sense of the word." I read a little of his work. Steve's not kidding.
What caught my attention was something Steve quoted from Taruskin about the orchestra being a "microcosm of society." This is exactly what I've been working on--well, not exactly. Vocal instead of instrumental, but it's basically the same. It jump-started my brain in that direction again, so I'm working on a companion piece to "Soloist as Stranger," (which goes in for publication review in a few weeks, yay) based off the passage in the History that I found that quote in. So thank you, Steve.
Now all I have to do is be able to say that out loud...
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Silence Day 2
This is not fun. Technically I cheated and did some talking today, but it was very necessary talking. Dr. Stoltzfus is going on sabbatical next semester, so we just had our last concert with him and I will have graduated by the time he gets back. Saying goodbye counts as necessary. I still lip-synced most of the carol concert today, though. Everything except the Chorale pieces and our little section of the Pinkham.
But then I had dinner with Roomate and Friend Since Preschool, and didn't say anything the entire time. Wrote a lot, though. I think that the waitress thought for a minute that I was refusing to speak to her because I didn't like her or something, but she was really nice about everything. Roommate says that since I can't talk I've been doing way-over-the-top facial expressions to compensate. This feels true, but of course I can't see my own face.
After my little scare yesterday I did a few tests to see if I could figure out a way to make noise just in case. It turns out that I can sing really, really low in my range, so if I really, really have to say something I start with a humming noise and just sort of make words over the top of that. Unfortunately, even that doesn't work all of the time and I can only do about half of English consonant sounds. This is going to be the longest two weeks of my life.
But then I had dinner with Roomate and Friend Since Preschool, and didn't say anything the entire time. Wrote a lot, though. I think that the waitress thought for a minute that I was refusing to speak to her because I didn't like her or something, but she was really nice about everything. Roommate says that since I can't talk I've been doing way-over-the-top facial expressions to compensate. This feels true, but of course I can't see my own face.
After my little scare yesterday I did a few tests to see if I could figure out a way to make noise just in case. It turns out that I can sing really, really low in my range, so if I really, really have to say something I start with a humming noise and just sort of make words over the top of that. Unfortunately, even that doesn't work all of the time and I can only do about half of English consonant sounds. This is going to be the longest two weeks of my life.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Silence Part I
Music has killed my life for at least the next two weeks. Haydn is basically Soprano Show-Off Time, which is awesome, but after singing the Creation every day for a minimum of two hours this week, not to mention everything we've done this past semester, my voice has decided to rebel, and express its displeasure by simply not functioning. That's right, I literally can't talk. At all.
This is incredibly frustrating. Well, that's putting it mildly: I have been quiet for less than twenty-four hours and I'm already prepared to kill things. There are too many things in my head, and I am accustomed to getting them out via speech. Which seems kind of weird to those who remember when I was a kid--I really didn't talk much. Then I hit sophomore or maybe junior year of high school and all of a sudden there were WORDS. So many words. As it is, my voice can't keep up with my brain, and I type
SEAN GIVE ME BACK THE MAD COW CELL
slower than I speak, obviously (although really 85+ wpm isn't bad), and writing by hand takes even longer. As it is I already have several pages full of "my side of the conversation." I never realized exactly how much I talk until now. Apparently I also hold all of my conversations with myself out loud, because today when I was "talking to myself" I had to consciously remind myself to keep it in my head and not even try to talk.
I actually had a bit of a scary moment today. The whole not-talking thing technically started yesterday, but I thought that all I needed was a bit of rest after a long and quite grueling rehearsal and I'd sound okay in the morning. The Wise Man once told me when I was a bit nervous about singing in front of people "Never be afraid that you'll open your mouth and something un-lovely will come out." Well, today I opened my mouth--just to talk, not even to sing--and nothing happened. I got to thinking what would have happened if that had been some kind of emergency, or if it had happened in front of people. Being female and average-sized, I usually have to talk my way out of trouble (although I readily acknowledge that I talk myself in to trouble much, much more often). I rely on my intellect and my ability to express it to get what I want, especially since I'm so much younger than the people I work with (which is a separate post on it's own). There was this one episode of Doctor Who during David Tennant's tenure called "Midnight." It felt like that. I don't like it. I really, really don't like it. It's sort of terrifying.
Seriously, I would love to curl up in my closet and cry a little about it, but crying out loud is bad for your vocal cords.
The extra-sucks part about this is that I just sang a huge concert today, I have another one tomorrow, and four more rehearsals and a friend's doctoral recital in the next week. And yet I'm supposed to be on complete vocal rest. This means no talking. Technically it means no singing as well, and I may just sing tomorrow's gig and then not sing the recital. I don't know. But I can't talk for two weeks. TWO WEEKS. My roommate is already enjoying this way too much, and no one around me speaks my version of really shit sign language (i.e. the one person who does know sign knows way more than me, and Roommate doesn't know any). I still have tons of class and work and exams to do before the end of the semester, grad school applications to finish, setting-up-for-next-semester details to be taken are of. Many of which require the ability to speak. So expect many more rants on the subject. Or cathartic getting-out-of-thoughts-which-I-cannot-say-aloud-but-fortunately-the-Internet-doesn't-have-that-problem.
Okay, Sean's smacking the computer with a fuzzy salmonella molecule, so I'm going to interpret that as "get off the web and pay attention to me." He says, "also this post is long enough." Just for that, I ought to write a couple more paragraphs, but I'm trying a new thing where I don't spite people just because I can. jk.
--C.
[Side note: the little part in caps was a "my side of the conversation thing." Shino has this set of fluffy molecules, and I had the mad cow one on my head. Sean took it away. It's back on my head now. I took out the other random bits of conversation, since they were even less relevant.
This is incredibly frustrating. Well, that's putting it mildly: I have been quiet for less than twenty-four hours and I'm already prepared to kill things. There are too many things in my head, and I am accustomed to getting them out via speech. Which seems kind of weird to those who remember when I was a kid--I really didn't talk much. Then I hit sophomore or maybe junior year of high school and all of a sudden there were WORDS. So many words. As it is, my voice can't keep up with my brain, and I type
SEAN GIVE ME BACK THE MAD COW CELL
slower than I speak, obviously (although really 85+ wpm isn't bad), and writing by hand takes even longer. As it is I already have several pages full of "my side of the conversation." I never realized exactly how much I talk until now. Apparently I also hold all of my conversations with myself out loud, because today when I was "talking to myself" I had to consciously remind myself to keep it in my head and not even try to talk.
I actually had a bit of a scary moment today. The whole not-talking thing technically started yesterday, but I thought that all I needed was a bit of rest after a long and quite grueling rehearsal and I'd sound okay in the morning. The Wise Man once told me when I was a bit nervous about singing in front of people "Never be afraid that you'll open your mouth and something un-lovely will come out." Well, today I opened my mouth--just to talk, not even to sing--and nothing happened. I got to thinking what would have happened if that had been some kind of emergency, or if it had happened in front of people. Being female and average-sized, I usually have to talk my way out of trouble (although I readily acknowledge that I talk myself in to trouble much, much more often). I rely on my intellect and my ability to express it to get what I want, especially since I'm so much younger than the people I work with (which is a separate post on it's own). There was this one episode of Doctor Who during David Tennant's tenure called "Midnight." It felt like that. I don't like it. I really, really don't like it. It's sort of terrifying.
Seriously, I would love to curl up in my closet and cry a little about it, but crying out loud is bad for your vocal cords.
The extra-sucks part about this is that I just sang a huge concert today, I have another one tomorrow, and four more rehearsals and a friend's doctoral recital in the next week. And yet I'm supposed to be on complete vocal rest. This means no talking. Technically it means no singing as well, and I may just sing tomorrow's gig and then not sing the recital. I don't know. But I can't talk for two weeks. TWO WEEKS. My roommate is already enjoying this way too much, and no one around me speaks my version of really shit sign language (i.e. the one person who does know sign knows way more than me, and Roommate doesn't know any). I still have tons of class and work and exams to do before the end of the semester, grad school applications to finish, setting-up-for-next-semester details to be taken are of. Many of which require the ability to speak. So expect many more rants on the subject. Or cathartic getting-out-of-thoughts-which-I-cannot-say-aloud-but-fortunately-the-Internet-doesn't-have-that-problem.
Okay, Sean's smacking the computer with a fuzzy salmonella molecule, so I'm going to interpret that as "get off the web and pay attention to me." He says, "also this post is long enough." Just for that, I ought to write a couple more paragraphs, but I'm trying a new thing where I don't spite people just because I can. jk.
--C.
[Side note: the little part in caps was a "my side of the conversation thing." Shino has this set of fluffy molecules, and I had the mad cow one on my head. Sean took it away. It's back on my head now. I took out the other random bits of conversation, since they were even less relevant.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Fall Break
Okay, so it wasn't quite as awful as I expected. It was pretty close, though.
People were boring, Thanksgiving was incredibly boring, relatives were boring, didn't get nearly enough homework done, boring boring boring.
(Seriously, the levels of boring cannot be described. There are just not words for that kind of thing.)
Music was good though. Random Days of Unexpected Alto-ness with a side of No I Didn't Get That Email are always amusing, and of course Operation Follow-Boss-Around-For-An-Hour-Or-So-And-Learn-All-Kinds-Of-Intersting-Things was once again put into place. Good times. Oh, yeah, and most importantly, the Magnificat is a go, people! Now all I need is an orchestra and a choir to practice with...
People were boring, Thanksgiving was incredibly boring, relatives were boring, didn't get nearly enough homework done, boring boring boring.
(Seriously, the levels of boring cannot be described. There are just not words for that kind of thing.)
Music was good though. Random Days of Unexpected Alto-ness with a side of No I Didn't Get That Email are always amusing, and of course Operation Follow-Boss-Around-For-An-Hour-Or-So-And-Learn-All-Kinds-Of-Intersting-Things was once again put into place. Good times. Oh, yeah, and most importantly, the Magnificat is a go, people! Now all I need is an orchestra and a choir to practice with...
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Why Fall Break is Going to be Awful
It's going to be nice to have a break from classes, and a break from Grainger, and a break from Haydn's Creation. I'll probably get more sleep. I'll get to see my choir peeps, and I haven't gotten to talk to Boss in almost three months, so that'll be awesome.
But I'm going to be so bored.
This is not to suggest that I won't have plenty to do. I have homework coming out of my ears at this point, and grad school applications are slowly killing me. Then there's that honors thesis thing that I haven't really started yet--and I promised my adviser a draft by the end of the semester, which is less than a month away. There's also plenty of music stuff to do. My To-Do list is really, really, really long, and that's only the stuff I have to do as opposed to want to do.
But I'm going to be so bored.
Everything is classified in my head by whether it is Interesting or Not Interesting. Thanksgiving is Not Interesting. Random relatives--Not Interesting. Being away from the libraries and the lab and the Internet is not only a pain in the ass for homework-doing, it is also firmly in the category of Not Interesting. Thing which are fascinating to the people I'm going to be with are practically guaranteed to be Not Interesting.
I guess my only consolation at this point is that my research and paper-type work will still be Interesting enough to keep me from lighting things on fire, and so will getting a chat with Boss, and so will some of the music, probably. But I suspect that there's still going to be a lot of in-between time, which is certainly going to make me want to light things on fire.
Hopefully nothing will be in ashes by the end of break. I kind of doubt it, though.
But I'm going to be so bored.
This is not to suggest that I won't have plenty to do. I have homework coming out of my ears at this point, and grad school applications are slowly killing me. Then there's that honors thesis thing that I haven't really started yet--and I promised my adviser a draft by the end of the semester, which is less than a month away. There's also plenty of music stuff to do. My To-Do list is really, really, really long, and that's only the stuff I have to do as opposed to want to do.
But I'm going to be so bored.
Everything is classified in my head by whether it is Interesting or Not Interesting. Thanksgiving is Not Interesting. Random relatives--Not Interesting. Being away from the libraries and the lab and the Internet is not only a pain in the ass for homework-doing, it is also firmly in the category of Not Interesting. Thing which are fascinating to the people I'm going to be with are practically guaranteed to be Not Interesting.
I guess my only consolation at this point is that my research and paper-type work will still be Interesting enough to keep me from lighting things on fire, and so will getting a chat with Boss, and so will some of the music, probably. But I suspect that there's still going to be a lot of in-between time, which is certainly going to make me want to light things on fire.
Hopefully nothing will be in ashes by the end of break. I kind of doubt it, though.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Imply vs. Infer
I saw these misused again somewhere today.
This is what the OED has to say about it.
Imply: "To involve or comprise as a necessary logical consequence; to involve the truth or existence of (something not expressly asserted or maintained)."
Infer: "To bring in or ‘draw’ as a conclusion; spec. in Logic, To derive by a process of reasoning, whether inductive or deductive, from something known or assumed; to accept from evidence or premisses; to deduce, conclude. (With simple obj. or obj. clause.)"
One may infer that something is being implied, or imply that something is being inferred, but they are not interchangeable. Have a little linguistic respect, people. That is all.
--C.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Female Chauvenist Musicians
The idiots in my music history class are at it again.
For background, I should point out that I'm not a music major. I'm acing the class, I'll have you know. But these are juniors and seniors who have been studying music for years, and some of them are taking the class for the second or third time. Our TA is fantastic. He's funny, clearly brilliant, and used the phrase "ontological query" on the first day of class--in response to a comment about the world's largest bottle of ketchup. We get along just fine. I do not get along fine with the rest of the class. They annoy me. They are Welsh carrots (thank you, Stephen Fry, for providing me with that little bilingual bonus there). I don't mean that they're idiots in terms of grades or the ability to write a coherent essay or whether or not they can remember something that our TA said five seconds ago (they are, but that is not the point in this case).
What set me off today was something that is a sad fact of life which is unfortunately not often dealt with in a constructive manner. We were discussing the role of women in music in the Baroque and how it is or is not comparable to today. After a fairly depressing listing of the reasons why it sucks to be female in the music fields, Steve asked if we could think of a reason why it was "awesome" to be female in the field. The first and only thing anyone could come up with was that while guys all look essentially the same in their tuxes, the best part about performing is getting to dress up and look pretty.
SERIOUSLY?!?!?!?!?!?
They giggled over how great concert dresses are, and how it's always great to go to some girl's recital and see what she picked out to wear. I fumed quietly in the background. Steve eventually turned to me and said, "Caitlin, I'm pretty sure you have an opinion on this..."
Damn right I do!
Issue number one: Yes, we are judged on our physical appearance. It's not fair, but that's how society works, there is a double standard whether we like it or not, and really there's very little we can do other than ignore it to the best of our ability (technically speaking exploiting it shamelessly is also an option, but that never turns out well in the long run) and prove ourselves on the basis of our talent and dedication to the art. While being pretty is nice and all, it should not be the focus of our lives, nor the trait on which we base our self-worth. Alondra de la Parra is beautiful, but a) she practices and b) I'm pretty sure she'd be more pleased with compliments on her conducting than on her hair.
One girl said, in defense of the pretty dresses thing, that her life goal is ultimately to be a 50s housewife. She likes to cook and clean. That's fine. I'm a pretty good baker, and my apartment is in fairly good order. That does not mean that I judge myself, or expect that others will judge me, on the quality of my pumpkin muffins or whether I've scrubbed the kitchen floor this past week (they're fantastic, and I haven't).
I come from the math department, where the grand total of female faculty is a whopping 0 and any woman student is automatically assumed to be a future teacher who will only be taking enough math classes to get her degree and then happily retreat to the realm of third-grade mathematics. To wit: I was in a math class once as the only female. It was spring semester, so everyone started out in six layers of bulky sweaters. Once spring hit properly, I was in a bit of a whimsical mood, so I wore a skirt, heels and a blouse that actually fits. They stared at me as if to say "You have boobs. What are you doing here?" The point I'm trying to make is that if we're too pretty, we're assumed to be ditzes who get by on the strength of eye-lash fluttering skills. Those fancy recital dresses will work against you more often than for you.
Issue number two: Really, that's all you can come up with for why it's awesome to be female in music? How about the music itself? When Brahms's 4th Symphony or the Bach Magnificat starts echoing around the Hall, no one cares whether the musicians are wearing tuxes or skirts. During the violin solo at the end of Scheherazade, no one gives a shit if one of the most beautiful pieces in the world is being played by a man or a woman. Offstage it may be more of an issue, but the music is the ultimate goal and it's worth it.
I understand that history has not exactly spoken in favor of women in music, or in any other field. Progress has been made recently, although we've still got a long way to go--look at the proportion of female musicians overall versus the proportion of female musicians at the top of the profession. Sexism is not specific to music. It's certainly not worse than in any other area, and it's a lot better than a lot of fields (just google the numbers for the STEM fields. It's depressing.) But seriously, ladies, the fluttery discussion of who's going to wear what is not helping the cause. Equally important, it's annoying me, so cut it out.
I WILL have more commentary on this later, mark my words.
--C.
For background, I should point out that I'm not a music major. I'm acing the class, I'll have you know. But these are juniors and seniors who have been studying music for years, and some of them are taking the class for the second or third time. Our TA is fantastic. He's funny, clearly brilliant, and used the phrase "ontological query" on the first day of class--in response to a comment about the world's largest bottle of ketchup. We get along just fine. I do not get along fine with the rest of the class. They annoy me. They are Welsh carrots (thank you, Stephen Fry, for providing me with that little bilingual bonus there). I don't mean that they're idiots in terms of grades or the ability to write a coherent essay or whether or not they can remember something that our TA said five seconds ago (they are, but that is not the point in this case).
What set me off today was something that is a sad fact of life which is unfortunately not often dealt with in a constructive manner. We were discussing the role of women in music in the Baroque and how it is or is not comparable to today. After a fairly depressing listing of the reasons why it sucks to be female in the music fields, Steve asked if we could think of a reason why it was "awesome" to be female in the field. The first and only thing anyone could come up with was that while guys all look essentially the same in their tuxes, the best part about performing is getting to dress up and look pretty.
SERIOUSLY?!?!?!?!?!?
They giggled over how great concert dresses are, and how it's always great to go to some girl's recital and see what she picked out to wear. I fumed quietly in the background. Steve eventually turned to me and said, "Caitlin, I'm pretty sure you have an opinion on this..."
Damn right I do!
Issue number one: Yes, we are judged on our physical appearance. It's not fair, but that's how society works, there is a double standard whether we like it or not, and really there's very little we can do other than ignore it to the best of our ability (technically speaking exploiting it shamelessly is also an option, but that never turns out well in the long run) and prove ourselves on the basis of our talent and dedication to the art. While being pretty is nice and all, it should not be the focus of our lives, nor the trait on which we base our self-worth. Alondra de la Parra is beautiful, but a) she practices and b) I'm pretty sure she'd be more pleased with compliments on her conducting than on her hair.
One girl said, in defense of the pretty dresses thing, that her life goal is ultimately to be a 50s housewife. She likes to cook and clean. That's fine. I'm a pretty good baker, and my apartment is in fairly good order. That does not mean that I judge myself, or expect that others will judge me, on the quality of my pumpkin muffins or whether I've scrubbed the kitchen floor this past week (they're fantastic, and I haven't).
I come from the math department, where the grand total of female faculty is a whopping 0 and any woman student is automatically assumed to be a future teacher who will only be taking enough math classes to get her degree and then happily retreat to the realm of third-grade mathematics. To wit: I was in a math class once as the only female. It was spring semester, so everyone started out in six layers of bulky sweaters. Once spring hit properly, I was in a bit of a whimsical mood, so I wore a skirt, heels and a blouse that actually fits. They stared at me as if to say "You have boobs. What are you doing here?" The point I'm trying to make is that if we're too pretty, we're assumed to be ditzes who get by on the strength of eye-lash fluttering skills. Those fancy recital dresses will work against you more often than for you.
Issue number two: Really, that's all you can come up with for why it's awesome to be female in music? How about the music itself? When Brahms's 4th Symphony or the Bach Magnificat starts echoing around the Hall, no one cares whether the musicians are wearing tuxes or skirts. During the violin solo at the end of Scheherazade, no one gives a shit if one of the most beautiful pieces in the world is being played by a man or a woman. Offstage it may be more of an issue, but the music is the ultimate goal and it's worth it.
I understand that history has not exactly spoken in favor of women in music, or in any other field. Progress has been made recently, although we've still got a long way to go--look at the proportion of female musicians overall versus the proportion of female musicians at the top of the profession. Sexism is not specific to music. It's certainly not worse than in any other area, and it's a lot better than a lot of fields (just google the numbers for the STEM fields. It's depressing.) But seriously, ladies, the fluttery discussion of who's going to wear what is not helping the cause. Equally important, it's annoying me, so cut it out.
I WILL have more commentary on this later, mark my words.
--C.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Kelli O'Laughlin
Kelli O'Laughlin was murdered on Thursday, October 27, 2011, after she walked in on a burglar in her house in Indian Head Park. She was 14.
Condolences to her family, friends, and the entire LT community, which has banded together to both celebrate her life and condemn this horrific act of violence. I'm sure I speak for all of us alumni in expressing our sympathies and our grief.
--C.
Condolences to her family, friends, and the entire LT community, which has banded together to both celebrate her life and condemn this horrific act of violence. I'm sure I speak for all of us alumni in expressing our sympathies and our grief.
--C.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Since I have to go pay the rent today...
There was an editorial in the DI the other day about the assumptions that are made about people's financial backgrounds.
Last semester I had a row with one of my Spanish classes about this. We were discussing the portrayal of the States in Latin American media, specifically the stereotypes about the "American Dream" and how this is consistently portrayed as the norm in mainstream media in Latin America. Our TA asked the class if we agreed that this image was accurate.
And the said yes. Every single one of them.
As one might expect, I just about exploded. Seriously, it is actually possible that people are totally unaware? Long story short: I ranted, they started looking a bit scared, I lost the ability to speak properly and switched to a combination of Spanish, my weird bastardized French, and the handful of Hebrew curses I know.
I should put in a little disclaimer here. These were all white kids who were (mostly) from the Chicago suburbs. I'm not suggesting that all white kids from the 'burbs grew up in bubbles with a massive sense of entitlement and an unawareness about how the world works for the have-nots. [There are a lot of kids from middle-class families who have part-time jobs on campus and who spend their summers working, etc. But the point is that ultimately they don't have to, and statistically these are often things like internships that are specifically taken as resume boosters, not as survival tools.] I am, however, saying that this particular bunch of white kids from the 'burbs grew up in bubbles with a massive sense of entitlement and an unawareness about how the world works for the have-nots. Technically, I too am a mostly white (part Latina) kid from the Chicago suburbs. But only because I was born there, because that where my grandparents live, and they only live there because they bought the house in the early 1970s when the neighborhood was really different. When I was little, I lived with my mother and various stepfathers on army bases and assorted other crappy places. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, not as bad as some kids I knew had it, but suffice to say that there were days we didn't eat.
I was one of the ones who got lucky. When I turned 13, I left my parents and moved in with my grandparents. This meant that I had the chance to attend a fantastic high school, which is funded by the property taxes of the parents of the rich white kids who have never been out of the suburbs except to go on vacation to some resort in Hawaii or Cozumel. They have never had a reason to contemplate where their next meal is coming from, and part of me envies them that. The other part wants to drag them down to the projects and point out that this is how people actually live.
...Well I feel better now.
--C.
Last semester I had a row with one of my Spanish classes about this. We were discussing the portrayal of the States in Latin American media, specifically the stereotypes about the "American Dream" and how this is consistently portrayed as the norm in mainstream media in Latin America. Our TA asked the class if we agreed that this image was accurate.
And the said yes. Every single one of them.
As one might expect, I just about exploded. Seriously, it is actually possible that people are totally unaware? Long story short: I ranted, they started looking a bit scared, I lost the ability to speak properly and switched to a combination of Spanish, my weird bastardized French, and the handful of Hebrew curses I know.
I should put in a little disclaimer here. These were all white kids who were (mostly) from the Chicago suburbs. I'm not suggesting that all white kids from the 'burbs grew up in bubbles with a massive sense of entitlement and an unawareness about how the world works for the have-nots. [There are a lot of kids from middle-class families who have part-time jobs on campus and who spend their summers working, etc. But the point is that ultimately they don't have to, and statistically these are often things like internships that are specifically taken as resume boosters, not as survival tools.] I am, however, saying that this particular bunch of white kids from the 'burbs grew up in bubbles with a massive sense of entitlement and an unawareness about how the world works for the have-nots. Technically, I too am a mostly white (part Latina) kid from the Chicago suburbs. But only because I was born there, because that where my grandparents live, and they only live there because they bought the house in the early 1970s when the neighborhood was really different. When I was little, I lived with my mother and various stepfathers on army bases and assorted other crappy places. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, not as bad as some kids I knew had it, but suffice to say that there were days we didn't eat.
I was one of the ones who got lucky. When I turned 13, I left my parents and moved in with my grandparents. This meant that I had the chance to attend a fantastic high school, which is funded by the property taxes of the parents of the rich white kids who have never been out of the suburbs except to go on vacation to some resort in Hawaii or Cozumel. They have never had a reason to contemplate where their next meal is coming from, and part of me envies them that. The other part wants to drag them down to the projects and point out that this is how people actually live.
...Well I feel better now.
--C.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Roomie Commentary Part I
Bec found out about this.
"This will make up for all the diary entries that I don't get to read."
...
...
...
Crap.
--C.
"This will make up for all the diary entries that I don't get to read."
...
...
...
Crap.
--C.
Getting Started
I have too many things in my head right now and I thought it might help if I put some of them on the Internet. I expect that I'll come to regret that decision at some point.
There will be random things. Many random things. Expect a lot of "Can't sleep until I write this down" posts. Also lots of Azula and Firefly quotes, and Sherlock references galore.
I imagine that at some point people I actually know will stumble across this (probably sooner rather than later, as it has already been demanded that I post the link to Facebook). They have seen but a small fraction of The Things Which Are Decidedly Not Normal that exist inside my head. I would like to remind them in advance that on the days when this swings from intellectual musings to pure, stream-of-consciousness crazy, that this thing is supposed to be an exercise in letting the crazy out in a way that does not involve lighting things on fire. You have been warned.
P.S. As I pointed out a few days ago in a little rant on Facebook, there is a difference between "infer" and "imply." They will be used correctly here. You're welcome.
--C.
There will be random things. Many random things. Expect a lot of "Can't sleep until I write this down" posts. Also lots of Azula and Firefly quotes, and Sherlock references galore.
I imagine that at some point people I actually know will stumble across this (probably sooner rather than later, as it has already been demanded that I post the link to Facebook). They have seen but a small fraction of The Things Which Are Decidedly Not Normal that exist inside my head. I would like to remind them in advance that on the days when this swings from intellectual musings to pure, stream-of-consciousness crazy, that this thing is supposed to be an exercise in letting the crazy out in a way that does not involve lighting things on fire. You have been warned.
P.S. As I pointed out a few days ago in a little rant on Facebook, there is a difference between "infer" and "imply." They will be used correctly here. You're welcome.
--C.
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