Disclaimer: I can't keep abbreviations straight anymore. So this time, unless they've already been designated by a letter, I'll protect everyone's identities using the dark powers I developed in Music Theory IV.

Thursday, II May 2006, 5:35 PM. Wind Ensemble Rehearsal Room, S College, Upstate, NY

"...so don't be wondering 'wuhl, how's acome you called me...?,' if I call you Saturday morning to remind you. You should've thought about that before you did whatever silly thing you did that made me think that you'd forget to be at Commencement. Commencement at nine o'clock, AM on SATURDAY the twenty-seventh. AM. On SATURDAY. One of you is going to forget. Nine AM." Mr B stared over his score at us for a full ten seconds, hands planted on the podium, still holding his baton. I quickly wrote a reminder on the top of my part, Flute I, of Robert Starer's Dirge for John F. Kennedy. "All right. Thank you, you guys have been a great ensemble this year, have a nice sumer. NINE AM."

I cleaned and stowed my flute and piccolo, packed up my music and instrument stands, and bid the department good night. I would mark the date on the calendar when I got home, but the fact of the mater was that, well, I had other, more pressing things to think about, namely, other programs. For example, the concert I had coming up on that Saturday, and the wicked fast Capital Region Wind Ensemble music that I needed to have ready for the first rehearsal on the 21st. Not to mention Finals, including Performance Juries. This program would have to be on the back burner for the moment.

Friday 26 May 2006, 10:37 AM, My House, Upstate New York.

=BRRRRING!=

"Hullo?"

"Hi, This is Mr B, is Toad at home?"

"Yuhp. Hiya Mr B! What's going on?"

"Just calling to remind you about Commencement tomorrow morning."

"Wha--? Oh! Ohhhh yeeeeeah, yeah sure, I knew that, uh-huh. Commencement. Riiiiight.Yeah. Yip. Not a problem."

There was only a sketchy silence on Mr B's end. He was probably pressing his temples and making a pained expression. "Ayeeeee. Emmmmm."

"MmmHmm. I'll see ya there. Bye-a Mr B!"

"Okay, see ya."

Phone back in it's cradle, I looked at my calender in disbelief. It definitely said that tomorrow was Thursday the Tenth. Of April. Stupid, lying, page-a-day Get Fuzzy calendars.

I hadn't really forgotten about playing at commencement, in fact I had just gotten through talking with my buddy Naanmjc, who was graduating, not just from S College, but also from the 365 day period during which she identified herself as being 24 years old. She was going to have a graduation/ birthday party starting around seven. I even told her I'd see her at the ceremony; I just hadn't put it together that if commencement were tomorrow, and I was playing at commencement, then I would have to play tomorrow. How'd those rhythms in the piccolo part go again?

Commencement actually went fairly well. It was held in an amazing old concert hall left over from the 1800's. We had already played most of the pieces on the program during our last concert, and those-- I think-- came out better than ever before. I wish I could've heard how we sounded with those acoustics. Granted, there was some confusion during the pieces which had been added to our repertoire solely for the ceremony (totally forgot to switch to piccolo during the Crown Imperial), but we only had rehearsed these twice before.

The graduating class was something like 450 students. Most of every one I know graduated, including the afforementioned Naanmjc, and L, of the trip down to NYC. L hadn't been intending on going to the ceremony, but figured he may as well since he had come up the night before (we weren't sure if he was going to be able to get a gown and hat at first; I suggested that he get the whole L section to use one gown, just passing it back down the line as they went off stage).

I cannot tell you how long it takes for a commencement ceremony to go when you're just sitting quietly on stage behind the college big wigs, each of whom must try to break his or her personal record on speech length. Each had a turn at the mic, sometimes for fifteen minutes in a go, but I know not what they spoke on, as the speakers' backs and all the amps were pointed away from us, as all there was to hear was a series of broken echoes. Eeenk-eenk-enk-k Whaaaa-whaa-wha Onk-k Eeeeeop-eeeop-eop-p for three hours.

I met up with L after the ceremony and we caught the last twitchings of the Graduation Reception back at the college before returning to my house. After a goodish length nap, we ate with my family and went to A's party around ten.

All of which is just so I can tell you about how Naanmjc's friend Mjma wound up wrestling in a pool of beer and glass with a slice of pizza down his pants.

Well, not so much how, as simply that he did. It was quite the rambunctious party, not just by my standards either (I'm not exactly a wild and crazy guy). Until the wee hours of the morning, there were about five musicians playing at a given time. In all, there was L (on electric bass, electric, guitar, piano, snare), Kvmea (Bass, Electric Bass), Juseaqm (Piano, Drunk Singing), Xhayl (Trombone), Vfiaj (Piano, Djembe), Naanmjc and her sister Wkva (Vocals, some piano), Acac (hand drums, snare), and me (Flute, duh). Later on, Afld L arrived with a veritable wet bar in his trunk, and a snare for the jam. When the scene was too dangerous for flutes and trombones, Xhayl and I switched to the various hand drums around (bongos and a djembe).

As more people arrived and others left, I watched the ebb and flow of human energy, the extraordinary living tide that is a party. Acac started a Flip Cup Tourney. L, Vfiaj, and Naanmjc took to semi-aerial combat, grappling with each other while scaling the wooden pillars that held up the patio's roof. A good twenty percent of the keg was on the patio floor, along with other beer and liquors, and in some spots you would splash when you walked. This guy-- I didn't catch his name, but he must've had more than liquor before he got there-- stood on the patio where the jam was and talked to an empty mic stand. L and I had only been there about an hour when the Police arrived. I was a little concerned because I thought that they might be there about the noise level of the jam, which we did not end, despite their presence. In fact, they were only there to ask Naanmjc to please put out the miniature bon fire that was roaring away in her barbeque pit. They even stopped to listen for a while.

Now, the crux of the matter, is that Mjma, somewhat more intoxicated than he is usually wont to, and his friend Oanu took to wrestling inside Naanmjc's refrigerator. They were in the midst of this perishable battle when I went to the kitchen to get another Sierra Nevada from my satchel (I don't drink keg beer... I don't really drink, to be honest. I only brought five Sierra Nevada Pale Ales with me, one of which I gave away one and three I brought home). I was just in time to see Oanu smooshing what must've been pasta salad in Mjma's hair, which was already matted, by the way, with pizza (perhaps the same slice that was to find itself in his pants in the very near future), popcorn, cheese, and some kind of red vinagrette.

The two knocked into Bea, Mjma's girlfriend, who cracked her noggin on a cupboard door. Presumably, it was after this that Bea took the slice of pizza away from them and put it down Mjma's pants. All I know is that it came back out of his pants half an hour later when they rekindeled their wrestling back on the porch, amid shards of a broken wine glass and spilt beer. Some one was shouting,"He's got pizza in his pants, Bea put it there!" Another voice screamed in mock horror "It's still in there?! Oh My GAWD!" Oanu and Mjma were like a human snowball, and as they rolled about the deck, several of the people listening to the music became entangled with them, as did a guy who'd been playing on one of the hand drums. It was like he got caught in a rip current and carried out to sea. "AAAAAAAAA!" and away he went. Vfiage, Xhayl, L, and I kept on playing, watching the situation unfold with interest. I was obliged to move when that tussling mass of food and flesh threatened to assimilate me and the djembe I had, but having played through the Po', we were determined to continue through the melee.

Ahhh... good times, good times.

Well, if that was too anti-climactic, here are some links to click at.

Useful Links:

Flip Cup

Djembe

Set Theory

AAAAAAAAA! (A Climactic link.)

...The first would be would be ehhhhhhhhggghhhhhhnk. This would be followed immediately by what I believe is called a primal scream. Something along the lines of REEEEEEEEEEYAAAAAAAAARRGH. Last would come a long, drawn out sigh: hehhhhhhh....

This was the first semester that necessarily cut into what little spare time I used to preserve for writing exercises, verb drills, and other independent studies. It was the first semester that I got a mid-term warning grade, the first time that I discovered practicing five to eight hours a day is something that you can really accomplish, the first time that I almost died twice during Wind Ensemble rehearsals, once literally, and once metaphorically. Hey, it was even the first time that I won at Aural Skills (got an A, baby!!) But this, This, ladies and gents, was the first semester that was just too much for me to handle whilst keeping up a blog at the same time (granted, I didn't have a blog three semesters ago, but the point, mates, is that I could've).

Well, somehow, against all odds, it would seem, the semester has ended. I am still alive, my dignity marginally intact (one tends to look foolish sleeping in the various dark corners of the music department, and even in the practice rooms on not-too-busy days), and now I am returned, here once again to regale you all with stories of my general ridiculousness and wimpitude.

Not too much has changed since we last met, dearest blog-o-sphere. Let's see... Well, I have a new bike, a Bianchi Forza that I got from Craig's List. I named him Salt Peanut. (It was almost Dominant Seventh, or V7, but then we all know that for the greater portion of the last three hundred years sevenths-go-down, so I thought that this, while a clever musical reference, would be tempting fate.) I had a series of the worst hair cuts ever, there are pictures, no, I won't post them. I bought and put to good use a new Martini set. It's wicked cool: comes with four glasses, a service, and a shaker. I'm very excited about that. I have been summoned for Jury Duty and been excused twice now (they wanted me in during mid-terms the first time, and the second, the week of June 5th, I have two rehearsals and a concert with the Capital Region Wind Ensemble). Which reminds me, Mr B asked me to be in his professional ensemble, the afformentioned CRWE. This represents probably the only time I shall ever play in a professional ensemble. I've begun to branch out from my strictly classical roots, and, with a little help from my friends, I am "finding" jazz. I guess that's about it.

Oh yeah, and I've decided to not transfer for next fall, instead opting to stay a third year at S College. This is despite that after this summer I'll have completed my course work for humanities and --I think-- for music as well. My family is not amused. The Neighbors are amused, unfortunately only because they hate me for no apparent reason, and wish me nothing but an ill fate. Here's the thing: I can no longer imagine NOT going into music. I was afraid this might happen way back when I applied to double major. I didn't want it to work out this way, and, in fact, I had already begun the application process at Cornell when it hit me that I really didn't want to go there unless it was to study music theory. I want to just work solely on music for the next year. I want to be a good musician. I want to be able to bring life to little dots and lines drawn on pieces of manuscript paper. To achieve this, I need to be able to focus only on music, right? So I am only taking five credits this summer, about eight to ten in the fall, and eleven to thirteen next spring. This will leave me time to get serious about the flute, time to really start working on being a musician. But I'm not going to let language and writing stagnate either, I mean, this'll also leave me time to dig up my old copy of Deutsche Sprache und Landeskunde, brush up on my chosen language of study, and scan through some of my uncle's college creative writing texts as well.

My cohorts here are all behind my decision, one, in fact, last fall, said he'd "have to break your arms, seriously, if you don't major [in music]." Tell me Blog-o-sphere, is it so wrong? Am I really as much of a moron as The Neighbors would lead me to believe?

FINAL GRADES FOR SPRING '06:

Astronomy: A

Hispanic Literature: A

Jazz Style & Development: A

Conducting II: B (B is for Bahhhhh-- like the noise a goat makes.)

Guitar Techniques: A

Theory IV: B

Aural Skills: A (A is for Are you kidding me? No. Friggin'. Way. MWAHAHAHAHAAA.)

Wind Ensemble IV: A

Wind Chamber Ensemble IV: A

Performance Concentration IV: A (I'm pretty stunned about this one; I really messed up my jury this semester... It was bad news. I don't wanna talk about it.... sniff-hiccup.)

U.S. Politics and Government: A

Semester GPA: 3.86

Cummulative GPA: 3.87

Now, I'm pretty sure that for a bunch of these, =cough= Hispanic Lit, Politics & Government =cough= I was headed for A-'s or B's, given the averages I arrived at on my own, so I must've really done something special on the finals. In Hispanic Lit, I know I got a 99 on the final, because it was online, so I could go check it out after the prof had it graded. Actually, I thought I was getting an A- in Astronomy too, as I thought that's what the prof said, and I didn't go to the final, so I don't know exactly how that one worked out. I'm not going to question it.

PS: Regarding the last posts before I signed off: In the end, we made it to NYC. We parked in the Bronx (a questionable decision), and took the train to the city. We arrived around four in the AM, wandered the streets for a while, found Z's girlfriend, ate pizza at Joe's, wandered, got lost looking for Joe's again, found Joe's, ate a whole pizza between us, after which L and I parted with Z and his girl, took the train back to the Bronx, found the car, and drove home. On the way, a cop pulled us over because L's tabs were two days expired. Bollocks.

PPS: Here's a picture from this semester. We're playing the first Claude Bolling Suite for Flute and Jazz Piano Trio.

Just finished the last final (conducting) today at 3:00 PM EST. Ahhhh. That makes me happy. On the inside. Thanks to everyone for not minding too terribly if I flaked out of the blog-o-sphere for a minute. Now begins the wait for the grades to come in. If I post a picture of myself sans hair, be not surprised, for I find that waiting for the grades is very nearly worse than the finals themselves.

All right. This is all for right now. I must sleep. I think I'm about 96 hours behind at the moment.

Hi all. Yikes, been a while eh? Sorry about the lack of new Toadish goodness for the last couple o' weeks. With division recitals and concerts underway, score reductions, staying 'til 11:00 every night in the practice rooms, and finals coming up week-after-next, I haven't had a lot of time to spend on the computer other than when I'm doing homework. I don't usually like to check in on the blog-o-sphere when I'm working, because I might become distracted, which would be a bad thing... not that that ever happens or anything.... (Sideways glance.)

Anyway, I put in a pretty late night last night-- It began with me becoming totally lost on my way to meet up with the horn player, J, and one of the percussionists, K, with whom I was to go to the SUNY Holiday Concert. Naturally, the best part was the SUNY Symphony Orchestra. The SUNY Orchestra is essentially the SCCC Wind Ensemble plus strings, minus saxes and our flutes, and is also conducted by Mr B (sniff... there's just so many flutes... I am not necessary. But, oddly, one of our sax-men was playing percussion with them last night). They premiered this wicked cool new piece written by none other than Mr B, who, by the way, is bad ass.

Other than the orchestra, there was the university vocal chamber ensemble and... quite a lot... of a cappella renditions of various Christmas, Billy Joel, and Green Day tunes. One group, called Earth Tones was highly entertaining; they did Adam Sandler's Hanukkah Song and You're a Mean One Mr Grinch. Ahhh...I love those songs. They make me laugh. There was a party after the SUNY Holiday Jamboree (not what it was really called, just what I like to call it). I got home about an hour ago-- so this'll just be a short entry for updates and whatnot. Also, sadly, this might be the last entry before the end of the semester. :-( =sniff= I'll miss you guys... But I'll be back when winter break hits.

So first, an academic progress report. The history paper on persecution throughout the High Middle Ages was much better than I could have imagined-- a solid 97. Whew. It took so long too get that back. Pins and needles the whole time.

Another paper that has apparently become MIA somewheres in the stacks of papers upon a prof's desk is the last Environmental Science paper. If I got at least a 90 on it, I am exempt from the final. So you can see how this wait (now over a month) has been a torturous exercise in suspense.

Spanish has gone horribly wrong. I'm trying to come to terms with the knowledge that even an A on the final will not save me from B-dom because you need a 95 or better to get an A in this class. Sigh. Now I'm sad.

I'm finally getting the hang of Aural Skills. Lemme tell you what; Mr C's Aural Skills class has kicked my ass into shape. When I went in there, I was totally unprepared for the amount of dictation we were going to be asked to do, as in Aural Skills I & II we only had dictations a few time throughout the whole semester. Thus, for the first three weeks, every class was slapping me down with a 25-30 (yes, out of 100). I watched as what had begun as a solid A was whittled down, one crappy quiz at a time, to a C. But it seems that repetition is the key. I've pulled up from this veritable nose-dive to doom and now I believe I am cruising around in the high B range. I doubt if I can make a difference with the final, but, well you never know. I might be able to snag an A-.

On to Conducting. I'm just glad the score reduction project is finally done and turned in. 32 measures of Carl maria von Weber that I will never have to look at again. Ahhh. Once more, I'm happy. Maybe I'll post my project so you can see what I'm talking about. Basically, you just take an orchestral score, then, after accounting for transpositions, re-write it in two, or in my case, three staves in concert pitch. My project took me ten hours. Ten. Hours. I had four horns. Horns I & II in D were reading treble, Horn III in D was reading bass, and Horn IV in A basso-- that didn't say A Basso (but luckily, Mr B warned me that it was, in fact, A basso. So we're good)-- was reading in treble. The first two sound a minor seventh lower than written, the third sounds a major second above what was written, and the fourth sounds a third plus an octave lower. I was so proud when I finished in six hours. Then Mr B pointed out, when i brought my reduction in for him to check, that my tenors, who were reading in treble clef, were singing an octave lower than written. The second time I did my project it only took four hours. That's an improvement of 33%. Gah.

All right. I need to get in some practice hours. I'll try to come back later tonight or tomorrow, because I want to write about a little report on the Spanish club. But for this I'd need to hook up my scanner... and I'm lazy.

If I don't see you again until after the end of the semester, don't forget, to borrow a Lemur-san-ism: Toad loves you! now, Awaaaaaay!

GAH! I studied so friggin' hard for the conducting exam today. So hard. All weekend. Nothing but conducting and flauting. And today in the classroom, i was really hoping all would go well.

For a while, it even seemed that this would be so. As far as I can tell, I got all the foreign terms that we were to know, and I am pretty sure that if the flutes (who play concert pitch) are reading in G, that the Eb Alto Sax is reading in E. When I was called up to conduct the assigned score, I managed to wrestle the tempo down from where I was about to cause it to go pretty well (I tend to rush in a most disgraceful fashion), and, somehow, I got all the dynamics.

Of course, all this good-doing should've set off some bells and whistles immediately, but at the moment, I was feeling pretty strong. And then... heavy sigh... I got so excited and nervous (being that I am a silly, goofy sort of creature at my miserable heart) that when I came to the chorale transposition bit, I became absolutely obsessed with the clef transpositions and changes that I'd have to make to the key signatures in order to read the voices (which were all in transposing instruments) in concert pitch. So much so, in fact, that I made an excruciatingly bone-headed gaffe. I neglected to read the full name of the third instrument from the top. It was not, in fact, Clarinet in Bb. Rather, it was BASS Clarinet in Bb, which put it something like an 8va lower than the cello. "So?" you ask. Well, the point was to do a roman numeral analysis of the chorale. Part of this analysis is getting the inversion of the chords, which is dependent upon the lowest SOUNDING voice. The whole thing. Wrong. W-r-o-n-g-in-first-inversion-not-root-position-wrong.

I meant to send a message: I am down, but not out, not yet, no siree! I wanted so desperately to make amends for the horrible homework I turned in last week. It was to be my way of saying, I am SO sorry I have been the biggest disappointment of a student e'er to disgrace the locker room. See? I can do it! It was my grand scheme to reaffirm Mr B's almost certainly waning confidence in me, to save my grade, to prove I am not so worthless, eh? It was to say, "Take heart, your words do not fall upon deaf ears! Such is my desire to learn this art! Such is the power of my will! Up from the depths of despair I shall rise, phoenix like, yes--

--And then I showed only that I have an exceptionally poor short-term memory, as it was only last week that Mr B warned us that the lowest voice on the score, geographically speaking, was not necessarily the lowest sounding voice. Please excuse me while find something sharp, pointy, and preferably rusty to bang my forehead against.

In the last entry, I said I would come back to explain Roman Numeral Analysis. Well, I lie sometimes. Sorry. Instead, since I am too busy to make an entirely new and original entry, I am just going to copy and paste my history essay thus far.

Again, I am sorry, only this time I really, truly mean it. See, when I write an essay, it almost always starts out an un-researched, irascible, ornery rant. Then I go back and do my homework, flesh it out, an d fix it up before turning it in. This pre-first draft draft is completely irresponsible, and, most likely, unfair, opinionated, and lame. I haven't even cracked the book yet to verify anything I've written, I'm just spewing based on what i remember from class. It's a good way to get your mind going in the right direction though, I find. Please do not take my example to write essays this way. The finished product will be absolutely unlike this, this monstrosity visited upon history and the English language. I post for only one reason, and that is because I think it may be amusing to see five hundred formative years of Western History treated with reckless abandon. That and because I am lazy. Just let me remind that, at this point, this is basically just stream of consciousness stuff, so the writing is very bad. There are fragments of sentences, misspellings, and, surely, things that are just incorrect.

At any rate, without further ado:

A. Toad

15 Nov 2005

Optional Essay for HIS 125

Persecution in the High Middle Ages

(Outline to be fleshed out and... ahem... adjusted.)

thesis....Call me a cynic, but I am of the impression that the reason that made up the vast majority of the reasons for all the various persecutions that went on between 1000 CE and 1500 CE was a lust for power/money. Much more a reason than fear/hatred of people of different religious beliefs, and certainly more than any yen to save souls. I’m not saying that these latter two were completely out of the equation though, just that they were not the main reasons. Look at the so-called Heretics. The Cathars (a.k.a. the Albigensians), those other guys (what were their names? Note: look that up); they were taking followers away from the RCC. And we already know that the Popes had a preoccupation with increasing and maintaining their power. They hounded kings, they hounded each other... Power. Which comes, let’s face it, from the People, who were at risk of leaving the RCC for other religions. This couldn’t be allowed, so they had to be done away with.

According the the text, on whatever page(s) that was, the persecutions of heretics, Jews, and homosexuals stemmed from......

But my point is underscored by the Popes' being leery of the public outrage against the Jews at first. Why would you want to go after only the Christian Heretics? I say that this is because the Jews already were NOT Christians. Whatever they were up to, it would not increase or diminish the power of the Pope. The book talks about the Jews on some page or other, which I will probably quote from. But not this instant! Hah! In fact, I think (if memory serves) it was only after the public freaked and, as a mindless mob, wanted to squish the Jews, that the Popes got in on the action. Hmm. It seems to me that the public outcries against Judaism stemmed only from the fear of the not-exactly-like-me that the Church itself had been propagating. Fears that the “heretics” were a-coming for your children, your women, etc. Did the propagators of the vicious propaganda really think that tit would be so hard to the masses to jump from hatin’ on heretics to wanting Semitic peoples to dress different, to stay inside on holidays, to vanish away to Eastern Europe? An unfortunate side effect, perhaps, but, not one that the Church tried very hard to resist (though this is irrelevant).

Of course, like the Frito-Lay saying, “Betcha can’t stop at one,” neither could the religious fanatics. Why stop at the Jews? So then there were these crusades. The first one worked. The second was a miserable failure. Then there were a bunch more with varied results. God, people are dumb. What the hell is the matter with people? Damn it. The history of Western Civilization is nauseating. And it will continue to be so. Because some powerful people who I won’t name, (but whose initials are also dead give aways) are poo-heads. Umm... moving on.

In closing, proletarians of the world unite yourselves, you have the real power! Look at all the trouble the very thought of losing you all caused: Crusades, Inquisitions, Wholesale Slaughter! You, you the working masses! Wake up! Revolt already! “They” can’t stop you! But avoid the utter disasters that were the Peasant Revolts of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. And try to have more direction than the French did in their revolution. That got a little dumb too. The end.

Heya. I think this may be the weekend I die. I don't know what more to say. I'm here only while I take a break from writing this five-ten page essay for Western Civ that I opted to do instead of taking the second midterm. And what is this crappola about two midterms per semester that my college does? I've never heard of such a thing. Gah.

The stress of all this impending doom and what-not has lead to much sleeplessness of late. Laying awake in bed last night, I was visited by three spirits, who urged me to post about my scholastic season thus far.

The Ghost of Midterms Past...

...Reminded me that I had promised to return with updates on the first midterms of the semester, then never had.

Conducting: 98 I have no clue how that happened. I believe my in-class reaction to this was to fall out of my seat. May i just say, for the record: GAHHHHHHH! YES! DUDE! SCORE! OH GAWD! I THOUGHT I FAILED THAT! AHAHAHAAA! .....deep breath. Thank you.

Environmental Science: 104 Heh heh. Four-point curve anyone? This was a two part test, 50% was from two take home essays, 50% from the in class test. I think I posted the shock I felt at seeing "50" a top the first half of the test last time.

The Ghost of Midterms Present...

...Had nothing constructive to say, opting instead to heckle and torment me through the night, taking up far longer than his designated hour and thus thoroughly upsetting the Ghost of Finals Future. His M.O. seemed to be, essentially, to remind me of just how doomed he thinks I am next week. Not that I'm not doomed next week, but still...

Western Civ: Besides the Civ paper, which is supposed to be on the various forms of persecution in Europe during the middle and late middle ages, (Uhh... wait. What? The Middle middle ages? Oh gawd what am I writing...), I have something like four other papers and two midterms to deal with. I need to get an essay together for Environmental Science about alternate sources of energy. Or something. Okay, maybe I haven't exactly looked at the assignment sheet in great detail just yet. All in due time.

Theory III: The first half (too massive for just one class, 'ey? That makes feel better. Please excuse me whilst I leap off the Viaduct) of the second Theory midterm is Monday morning at eight-thirty. Good times. I think this is the half on analysis. If I take another break today, I'll return and post my thoughts on Roman Numeral Analyses. Oh yeah, and I should really be writing that chorale that's due too. "But Toad," you say, "surely you've already started that chorale, especially if you're going to bring it up here, in your blog that you know your theory prof reads?" To which I respond, "....uh.......ayup."

Conducting I: I think there's some kind of midterm #2 in Conducting on Monday as well. Something about foreign terms and how to stab yourself in the face with baton? I don't know. There is definitely a score reduction due. What can say about something of which I know so little? Honestly, I think I like score reduction-- ize...ing...reductionizing-- so far. Basically, you take an orchestral score, or a piece of it, then smoosh it down into a piano part. Of course, I only had to do eight measure. I seem to recall that, in Conducting II, one of the flutes, who has since moved on to pastures greener, was making a reduction of Mahler No. 4. We'll see how much I like it then.

Environmental Science: Besides those things, I've got a smaller three-five page essay due for Environmental Science on Tuesday, and the second midterm for that class is Thursday.

Spanish 222: "And Spanish 222?" You may very well ask that. Gah. I thought it was just a quiz on Thursday. Eheh. No. It was the second midterm. That was nice. I haven't the foggiest what I got yet, but, if my estimations are correct, it'll be in the neighborhood of F percent. Just for the record, El Mostrador del Vuelo is not the pilot of the airplane. Aghem.

Performance Concentration: You know, I nearly forgot. I had to play my recital piece for the class last Wednesday. I think that Mr B was, well, maybe not happy per se, but I don't think I was awarded the, "What have you been learning over the last year-and-a-half then?" look of sheer disappointment either. Which makes me very happy. I am happy just thinking about it. Ahh... You know, just to look at some Mozart, it's so straight-forward... You wouldn't think it'd be very hard. Often, while I'm practicing the development, all I can think is, "Imbecile! This shouldn't be so hard, what is wrong with you? Mozart is spinning in his grave!" But, it's actually kinda tricky. As Mr C once said, "It keeps you honest." Word.

The Ghost of Finals Future...

Was so upset by the Ghost of Midterms Present taking up way too much time with his incessant heckling, that she up and left, only shouting over her shoulder to the Ghost of Midterms Present, "Your ass is mine at the company baseball game tomorrow, you cretin!" She then turned her anger towards me, "What the hell are you still awake for? Go to bed or study, but stop dawddling with that windbag!"

Okay. Term papers are a-calling me.

21:57: Hello, and welcome to our exclusive live coverage of the Vuelta de lasTofu-Chiladas. Toad is fast growing fed-up with the rediculous Spanish Club, of which she is Veep, however is already signed up to make a batch of Tofu-Chiladas for tomorrow's "Spanish" Pot Luck. Oh, that Toad, how does she get into these things? We'll be posting live progress reports as Team Toad wastes precious time (that could be going to practice and/or actually studying Spanish) trying to throw together a batch of Toad's Wicked Good Tofu-Chiladas. This is a new formmat for us here at Toad Pizza, so we'll see how this goes. One thing's certain: That this is an incredible waste of time! Yay!

22:15: And it looks like Toad's got all her ingrediants and stuff laid out on the counter, ready to go. It doesn't look like there'll be any actual cooking for a minute yet, though.

22:17: The weather in Upstate New York is quite nice tonight, given the time of year. We've got clear skies, and it's still in the upper fifties. Not that this is relevant, as Toad couldn't go for a night ride anyway, on account of her having to make these damn Enchiladas.

22:34: Just finished chopping the onions and throwing them in a wok to simmer until they turn clear-like.

22:42: The producers have told us to hold off on the photos until after all is said and done, as it takes a stupid amount of time to load one snap at a time from the camera to the computer to the blog. Onions still simmering. Toad emptied two canns of Hunt's Tomato Paste into a medium sauce pan about three minutes ago. Then whisked in No-Chicken Broth until it was nearing the right consistency. Will probably add Vermont Cow Organic Milk as needed. (The No-Chicken broth is to add extra chicken-y taste, as these are completely vegetarian enchiladas.)

22:44: We should mention that these are usually 100% organic, but Toad is lazy and didn't feel like making the tomato paste this time. Couldn't find organic tortillas and black beans.

23:17: Chili Powder, cumin, cinnamon, and brown sugar have been added in various amounts to the sauce, which does not need to be brought to a boil, or even a simmer, by the way. Really, the only reason Toad's heated it up at all is to aid in the mixing process. Following the instructions on the rice, having brought it and the enclosed dehydrated veggies to boil, the heat has been reduced on the forward-right burner, and rice covered. It shall stay covered for 20 minutes, or until Toad says to uncover it. Whichever has the least likelihood of starting a fire. Toad has sliced the Firm Nasoya Tofu into strips about the size of french fries, and is currently stir-frying them in the wok that had the onions in it in olive oil. (The onions were tossed in with the rice.) Later, she'll add salt, lemon rind, lemon juice and assorted other spices in an attempt to make its flavor more reminiscent of chicken.

23:28: The Sauce has been removed from the heat. The Tofu is a long ways off yet, as Toad is a moron and didn't squeeze out nearly enough water before tossing it in the wok.

23:40: The rice has finished cooking. We're just waiting on the Tofu...

23:55: Tofu's done.... Golden brown.

00:04: Team Toad has just mixed a couple handfuls of graded sharp cheddar and a can of black beans (after draining it) with the Tofu. We imagine that anytime now they'll think to pre-heat that oven to 375 F.

00:36: About twenty minutes ago, Toad spread the rice in a layer roughly 2 1/2 cm deep, in two Pyrex (Carbon Racing) Baking pans. She then made seven enchiladas, each with about a fistful of the bean-cheese-tofu mix in it, laid them on top of the rice (three in one pan and four in the other). She skillfully topped them with a couple spoonfuls of enchilada sauce and shredded Monterey Jack. Hmm... There are seven enchiladas. Seven, like, the same number of times Lance Armstrong won the TDF (Hats off to BIG Mike... Would've hated to have had the pay withheld). We here at Toad Pizza wonder what temperature Armstrong would've put the enchiladas in at.

00:45: The enchiladas have gone into the oven for fifteen minutes at 375 F. Toad looks happy with the results.

00:57: Just three more minutes until the 'Chiladas should be coming out o' the oven. Toad's starting to look jumpy.

01:00: And there's thhe beeper! Toad's off to the kitchen to check the level of crunchiness around the edges! Look at 'er go!

01:06: Oh no! There's been a slight burning! It's okay though, not even band-aid warranting. The enchiladas are out of the oven and cooling.

01:27: The enchiladas have been quartered, and covered with wax paper and aluminum foil. Toad is debating putting them in the car right now. Nah, looks like they're just going to spend the night in the fridge.

01:30: All in all, this hasn't been such a bad showing for Team Toad tonight. Despite the loss of some beans at the hands of a crappy can opener, Toad held it together and really limited her losses.

01:35: It's not looking like any kind of record breaking time at the moment, perhaps something over three hours, but well try to have the official time posted shortly.

01:39: Official time is 3:06. Not threatening the in-human 2:28 of '03, back when it was Toad and Ja'ar, working together in the kitchen, but none too shabby. Toad has yet to clean up the kitchen and practice for Aural Skills. It looks like she might be thinking about a Band-Aid. That could have negative implications on the Wind Ensemble concert Friday evening, though this is unlikely.

01:43: Well, this concludes our coverage of the Vuelta de las Tofu-Chiladas, cats. A fairly uneventful 'Chilada we've had today. Please join us tomorrow for a report on the "Spanish" Pot Luck, and don't forget to check back for full coverage of the Concert.

Photos (Which, for whatever reason, seem to be going right to left): 1) Toad, mentally preparing for the enchilada making. 2) The Stuff.

Welcome to the first official Toad Pizza Exam Report. Yes, I realize that that is not one-hundred percent accurate, as I have whined and whimpered about tests in previous entries. But those entries weren't all about the tests, and allusions don't count.

Midterms at a Glance

Well, the worst is over. Until the next worst, in seven or eight more weeks, that is. But finally, after two weeks of merciless testing, I emerge from the middle of the term. Slightly battered, perhaps mildly stunned, but by no means a defeated or broken Toad. It was an especially difficult fortnight, as several of my classes got behind weeks ago, and thus, the pre-midterm round of tests was pushed back nearly all the way to the midterms. (HAH! I thought I'd just written the wrong dates down, turns out that I was just too lame to know that they'd been moved.) Without seeing how the tests had scored before the midterms, I had no way of telling where I was really at in those courses. Flying blind. Sort of. Which meant I had to study twice as hard, since I didn't know where I was weak. That's not to say I did study twice as hard, but that's what I should've done.

The two midterms I took on the thirteenth, Spanish and Western Civ, I couldn't even remember afterwards, having blown the weekend study-time doing not-at-all useful or improving things. The results are in:

Spanish 222: 91.

I have nothing to say about the Spanish, except that I have shamed my family name.

Western Civ: 91.

No less shameful than the Spanish, but, nonetheless, more amusing. That essay that I had no recollection of writing? Eh heh... Yeah. For about a page and a half I stayed on track, then went on a three-page rant about the dissemination of cuneiform through Sumer and how it later evolved into our alphabet. The best thing about that essay was in the awesome comments my prof left in the margins. These are the best ones (my history prof rules): "Good ~cough~ guess" (In response to my, "uhh... 3000 BCE?"), "'Societies wot have cities...' Are you turning Cockney?" And the best one, "You could've thrown in a couple more such examples from other civilizations to make an exemplary essay... But you didn't." Oh snap.

I am still waiting for my Environmental Science essays to come back (going into week three here, I think...). But I got the in-class test (from the 20th) back Thursday.

Environmental Science In-Class Midterm: 50. Oh my GAWD! What will happen to meeeeee?!?!? GAAAAAAH! (unintelligible wailing, sobbing, and hiccuping) ...sniff... ...wha? ...sniff sniff.... What's that? Ohhh, that was out of 50. Okay then. Ne'ermind.

Then there are the Music midterms.

Theory: 81. Is this my fate? This, this B? Curse you, damned suspension, that I never remember to put in! And, may the Neapolitan Sixth that wasn't in first inversion burn for all eternity! ...gah... I'm such a loser.

Aural Skills: Maybe there isn't a midterm in this class...? Did I miss something? Aural Skills I and II both had midterms. We're all becoming very nervous here; hollow shells of our former selves. We drift, distraught, through the halls of the Music Department, wondering, waiting, dreading. We know the hammer will fall soon, but when, when??

Conducting: Well, the results aren't in yet, but I'll post an update. Let me tell you about the days leading up to the conducting exam and me.

Somehow, I slept only an hour Sunday night. I can't say why, because I don't really know. I was studying, but that's not why I was awake. I was only studying to occupy myself while I was awake. I get like that sometimes. Usually, I go chill on the lawn for a while, but, it's a bit too chilly at night right now for that.

Anyway, that shouldn't have mattered, because, as we learned Monday, the test was Wednesday. We were given a short score to prepare, and would have to answer some easy questions about music related things. It should be fine. Even when I couldn't sleep Monday night, either, it should've been fine, because I could catch some z's Tuesday. So, since there was a quiz in Spanish (right after Aural Skills), I did verb drills until it was time to leave Tuesday morning. (Incidentally, I wound up missing Aural Skills, because I fell asleep in the living room waiting for six-forty-five to roll around so I could leave for class. No one bothered to wake me up until nine-thirty. I just don't get it... I'm passed out, with my backpack and helmet on, and no body wakes me up? Gah...)

Then, on Tuesday night, much to my dismay, it dawned on me that a certain guest lecturer, Ralph Nader, upon whose arrival at my college I had been anxiously awaiting, was scheduled for seven-thirty. So, I went. Man, dude's got stamina. Though his lecture was over by nine-thirty, he was answering questions until ten-thirty, and signing autographs until eleven, at least. I didn't make it home 'til midnight. And, unbelievably, tired though I was, I just couldn't sleep. At all.

In theory Wednesday morning, I could barely stay awake, and a couple times very nearly fell out of my desk. I tried desperately to take a nap in the alcove left of the stage (the music dept. connects to the stage), but again, as soon as I laid down, that somnambular sanctuary of slumber was simply out of my grasp. As i walked down the hall towards conducting, I wondered whether it'd be points off for losing consciousness and falling on my own baton, thus dying in a bloody, if not poetic, mess.

Mr B handed out the written portion of the exam. It was easy stuff. Whether I got any of it right is another thing entirely. I don't know if we were supposed to use the same composer more than once when listing examples of important works, but I used Beethoven thrice in one category. Hey, Ludsie (as I call him) was important, jeebus. Then I was called upon to conduct.

I needed to hit 80 bpm as best as I could. 80's one of my better tempos, because it's very close to my normal cadence. It's also, as best as I can tell, the same tempo as in Hey Jude. I approached the "podium" (just one of our regular music stands with the top flipped down). Steady, I thought, ...naaa naa naa nanananaaa nanananaaa heyyy Jude....2, 3, 4... Okay, not too bad, a little fast? anyway... Start on two, breathe, look, bassoon in on three, four. One, breathe, look at, and cue trombones to the right on two, exhale three, breathe, look at and cue violas; in on four exhale.... Next measure in three-four.... Okay... okay, now in Four-four... and Three-four... here come the the two in four-four. Don't rush.... Last two, in three four-- and-- Gah! Wait, what's happening? Oh no! I just thought one on two... oh gawd.. oh jeebus... what? Uhh.. Okay, don't panic... and three--! Okay! The END! I forgot to drift the last note, and I don't think I was cue-ing very strongly, but, well, got forty of forty-four, so, not too horrible, eh? The tempo was a whole click (4 bpm) too fast though... friggin' nerves. I'm not sure how tough Mr B will grade this, but I do know that he doesn't use the in-between grades, so a 92 is a B. We'll see.

So what's left? Well, that's it for the academic classes. There's the concert on Friday, but that about does it for the Middle. And I live again! Score.

It was only last summer that I was often wont to become irritated over out-of-place books, and usually, untidiness in my domain did make me rather nervous. I was the type that must have every last trinket pointing in the correct and proper direction, I had to turn my covers down just so, and leaving undone laundry gave me hives. I once thought of myself as being clean, organized, responsible; all those happy traits so rarely associated with the collegiate world.

And perhaps, once upon a time, before college struck, I was. But this morn, while shuffling across my bedroom, when I found the floor to be crunchy with the accumulated soot and debris of some months without vacuuming, I toed a random pile of dirty clothes around, using them to pick up the bits of dirt and filth, and I knew that my days as a card-carrying neat freak had drawn to a close.

The transition was subtle, too subtle, in fact, for me to even notice it. I remember being mortified by the condition of my living quarters not long ago, but it seems that having been helpless to stop the steamroller of soiling that visited upon this place, by degrees I have become numbed to the pain of the Dirtying. I am not sure how long I have been using clothes on the floor as dust mops. Nor do I know when the last time I vacuumed or dusted was. Since last week, In order to save the time of making my bed, I have been sleeping under a bunch of towels and a bathrobe, on top of the covers, and yes, that really was a dust bunny the size of a burrito that was blown from beneath my bed when when I opened my closet door.

As I survey this small cube I call home, I find that there is not one square inch of furniture not buried beneath great heaping mounds of textbooks, magazines, newspapers, sheet music, and CD's. A Single cobweb now can be seen to extend from the air conditioner (on the west wall) to the corner in which my computer sits (southeast). As a sort of inside joke with myself, I wrote "neatness counts" in the thick layers of grey dust clinging to my mirror.

Yet I feel no shame in the current state of my room, pass though it could as the very pinnacle of the college bachelor pad, were it my pad, and were I a bachelor. Nay, it is almost with a sense of accomplishment that I sit here, night after night, burning the midnight oil, hedged in by text books, and practicing my conducting patterns, in this, this fantastic culmination of laziness and distractions, of chaos, this my college lair! For it is my lair, and my mess, and it is the badge I bear with honor, which reminds all who see it that I, Toad, Toad the College Student, am a hard-working Toad, and that my nose is far too pressed against the grindstone for me to be bothered with trifles such as a Duster, or a Vacuum! Pshaw, ma'am, I tell you this Toad has bigger fish to fry, than to haul out the over-flowing waste paper basket, than to stack up these towers of magazines; let them wait to be tidied until after finals, or let them tidy themselves, I say! Such is my position, ma'am, and I here by state it, for all to read, and I shan't stray a inch from it! (Lest I be overcome with despair.)

Photo:This dustbunny weighs in at a solid 4 kilos.

Whoa. So it's been a few days now, ey? Sorry 'bout that.... School must take precedence, after all, and this week has just been a total monster. Yesterday, I got home around four-thirty. This should've left me plenty of time to study (for the HIstory and Environmental Science exams tomorrow) before the Empire Jazz Orchestra concert I was going to see that evening at 8pm at my college. Should've. And would've, except that I made the ill-fated decision to check CNN International. In searching for that station, I accidentally stumbled across the title: Beijing Bicycle. It was playing on IFC. Naturally, I had to check it out. I won't get too much into the details of the plot, because I don't want to spoil it for anyone, but basically, a bike messenger gets his bike stolen, then is trounced over and over as he tries to get it back from the boy who bought it hot (with money he stole from his step-father.) When I had only meant to give it a quick look, I ended up spending the following hour and a half on the edge of my seat, now laughing, now crying, now screaming at the TV, wanting only to see if the Messenger gets his bike back. The scene of Bike-trouncing made me so upset, that immediately after the movie was over, I had to take Hilde out for a ride. There went another hour or so. By the time I got back, I just had enough time to shower, dress, and head down to the school to see the concert. Though I don't know whether it was really a terrific flick, or if am just a bike nerd, and any movie in which a bike is in peril is of the utmost interest to me, I say it was a top-rate film that I would've been an uncultured boor not to watch all the way through, even at the expense of some Western Civilization..

The EJO concert, in which Mr B kicked some major tail with Artie Shaw's 1941 Concerto for Clarinet in the first half, and featured Randy Brecker for the second, was awesome. Totally awesome. I'll come back and post the line up tomorrow after the two big exams are out of the way. If only it could've been awesome earlier in the day! It didn't end until ten, and because, like a moron, I went to Dunkin Donuts with the rest of the music department for the traditional after-concert coffee buzz, I didn't get home until nearly midnight. And then, of course, I was up past four scrambling with the reading and homework assignments that were due in mere hours. After a quick nap, I got up at five-thirty, brushed, flossed, ate, and headed back to college to steal some practice-time before Music Theory at eight-thirty. This brings the total hours of sleep for this monster of a week thus far to seventeen and some change. But That's okay, because I had never heard the end of that clarinet concerto, as my CD that has it is messed up, and cuts out right as the big cadenza at the end is starting. Hearing Mr B play the concerto, finally hearing how it ends, after all this time... It was worth only sleeping a hour. Sometimes, music is just THAT good. Seriously. (Even though now I am cross-eyed and dizzy, and will probably get run-over by a Mack Truck on the ride in to college tomorrow. Worth it.)

Okay cats... I gotta study, or I will die.

I am not, by nature, a flake. (What a strange sentence. -AT) I just have a lot of work to do, and am under a bit of pressure to get it done by tight deadlines. Like right now, I should be writing two written essays for the take-home part of my Environmental Science midterm, not writing about what a flake of a friend I am. I must get this out though, for the guilt wracks me.

For the last year and a half, every time there is some kind of "to do" going on, be it a party or just going out for a couple brews, I have told my very stanch college chums that I would go with them "next time." Next time, next time, next time. But when the technically "Next Time" comes around, and is now "This Time," I make the excuse in my head that "This Time" must, by definition, have ceased to be the next time, and therefore I am justified in backing out until the next "Next Time." Today, having flaked on them just last Wednesday, citing too much homework and a Spanish Mid-term to study for, "Next Time" has finally caught up with me. It's not that I don't want to, just for the record. I am pained each time that I cancel. It's just...well.... There's always more work to be done, and even when there isn't, I need to practice these crazy licks in the Wind Ensemble pieces. Namely, the Gaelic Rondo by Kessler. (Don't stab me in the eye Mr B, OK?)

Gah... And here is why I am a bad person. Because I spent yesterday goofing off at school instead of getting crap done (I have Fridays off), I am seriously debating calling in another "Next Time," rain check, even as I write. We're supposed to be going to see a double-reed ensemble premier a piece that Mr B arranged, then to The Bar. But... engh... I mean, I've got those two essays I mentioned, a History midterm next Thursday, and assorted madness from Theory, Aural Skills, and Conducting.

...... I know, I know, of course I'm going to go. But I am bring my Theory homework to the bar.

UPDATE: Whoa. Dude, score. Right after I posted this, my buddy called to say that the other guys had cancelled on The Bar. So rock out. We're still going to go to the double reed thing, but then I'll have all night to crank out science essays and borrowed chords to my little heart's content.

Yeah... So that chorale exam? ....aghem...Man, now I gotta post it or something.... sigh. Eh heh... 72. GAH! Curses Professor Moriarty, foiled again! Shheeezuz. I just don't know sometimes... I totally modulated to a minor from D major. Whaaa--? I mean, what part of "closely related keys" don't I get? I wish, just once, that I wouldn't start every semester off by making such a bold and decisive statement on the first round of exams. It makes the rest of the sixteen weeks drag in a most painful way, while I flounder and scramble to meet deadlines and study. (It's odd, since I fancy myself to have pretty strict study habits, that I am eternally behind where I would like to be.... and then I think about the two hours I spent watching some Nat. Geo. show about the "Most eXtremE." Well, I ask, is a seventy-two still worth seeing the lady-who-had-the-bright-idea-to-climb-into-the-polar-bear-cage get mauled? Is it? ....grrrr.)

Conducting, went, well, as predicted. I practiced, memorized, studied, listened to wicked-outta-range intervals until my ears bled, then froze in front of Mr B. Bad pick-ups, no eye contact with the orchestra (e.g. Mr B.), bad breathing, and then, to top it off, when asked to restart the very easiest etude, I got confused, thinking it must be because I had started on the wrong beat, and changed my starting beat. I went from in on three to in on four. When I realized that I was totally in the wrong place in my head, I tried, very calmly, and without stopping the pulse, to catch up internally, but it was too late. One whole measure, as in four beats, off by the end. I wish I could say that all my errors were due to the music stand, which I neglected to lower after the last, much taller person had gone, because it was in my face, made me bunch up my arms, and generally assassinated my groove, but of course, that's malarky. I'm just a terrible conductor. No news there. If I pass, it will be only because I am pretty sure of the intervals I heard and the foreign terminology. Very good, well done me. Please direct me to the conductor's podium, I'd like to hang myself on it. (Kidding...)

Right. Well, and now it is quite late, so I think I shall go boil my head....er... go to bed.

PS: Upcoming exams (Ehhh... Whoops. I was totally wrong about most of the dates here.):

Environmental Science Take Home Stuff: 06 OCT

Western Civilization to 1715: Essay Test on Alexander the Great and the Persians: 04 OCT

Western Civilization to 1715: Midterm #1 Some essays, key terms, and thirty to fifty multi-choice....yay: 13 OCT

Spanish 222: Midterm: 06 OCT

And there we are. One chorale, complete with fourteen chords, a chromatic and a common chord modulation, some 6/4 action and a nice secondary dominant seventh, in just over thirty minutes. This is either a very good thing, or a very bad thing, as is always the case when an exam goes smoothly. I'll let you know Monday just how dire the situation has become.

With all my concern over the Theory insta-chorale test, I absolutely forgot that today my number was up to play the etude I was assigned for Performance Concentration. Uhh... Whoops. Lucklily, as we all know, I am super-human, and, of course, practice the required twenty-two hours a day as per the expectations of being a serioius music student, so I was well-prepared anyway, with no problems to speak of....aghem... eh heh heh... yeah. (please don't fail me.)

I cannot believe how fast this semester is going. I've already got the first conducting exam next Monday, and Spanish next Thursday. Spanish is fine; conducting terrifies me. Here's what the exam will be:

-- Part One: Intervals. I am horrible at intervals. Any really, in music or otherwise (e.g. on the bike), but in music, the level of my lameness is truly rediculous. I, and this is true, confused an augmented fourth with a major seventh and a major with a minor second on the last quiz (which I got a 77 on... grrrrrr).

-- Part Two: Translations of Musical Terms. Hahaha, given that I want to be an interpreter someday (English + German or Linguistics = Interpreter? Maybe?), one would assume this, or at least the German parts, would be easy. It's not so bad, except that a lot of words that are synonyms when speaking normally have much more specific meanings in music terminology.

-- Part Three: Silent Conducting. I only can hope that I have the three pieces memorized, so that I won't miss anything when I conduct at Mr B. It will be just me and Mr B, in awkward silence, while I continue to conduct several measures after the piece has ended.

-- Part Four; Is just an exercise from the beginning of the semester. Four in four right, four in four left, three in four right, three in four left, two in four right, two in four left, one in four right, one in four left, repeat. If I can avoind making flambouyant (though unintentional) loops in my left hand, I think I'll survive.

There should be Western Civ and Environmental Science tests coming up too, but I am too lazy to check the syllabus...es. Syllabuses.... or Syllabi.... egh.

Oh dear. Speaking of Enviromental Science... I better write that paper due tomorrow. (I know that sounds bad, but the student store was out of the text, so I couldn't do the assigned reading until I borrowed a copy from my studio flute professor last Thursday. Granted, that was a week ago. But at least it's not like I was just sitting on the book for four weeks or something.) Oh, right. Paper. Toodles.

This is me hyperventilating.

Tomorrow I have my first Music Theory test. I'm going to have to write a chorale in four parts, using modulations, non-harmonic-tones, secondary-dominants and -leading tones, and observing whatever other guidlines are set before me. And I'll have to do it in fifty minutes or less. Not that this is impossible. The last several chorales I've done for homework haven't taken too much longer (my best time so far was about fifty-seven-fifteen) and with tonight's chorale assignment as a sort of warm up, I SHOULD be able to hack it. But I know that I do terribly under pressure. The chorale tomorrow is going to have issues, to say the least. We're not talking not-enough-step-wise-motion issues, either. More like, wow-is-that-really-a-parallel-perfect-octave-followed-by-parallel-fifths-and-a-not-going-down-seventh issues.

I also can never keep track of time during tests. Sometimes, I get over zealous about time-checks, and just psyche myself out looking at my watch every ten minutes. Other times, I am determined to go at my own, presumably sprightly pace, and try to come out on top. the problem is, my own sprightly pace is considerably slower than I think, more often than not, and I end up finishing in some sort of blobby, rushed way.

What's more: I still haven't studied my conducting assignment, or picked out three short pieces to conduct for tomorrow. I mean, I looked over the assigned piece once, but I couldn't conduct it tomorrow, and I don't know how the other three can possibly happen for me in time. In conducting on Monday, I completely wrecked the prep into the first beat. I just kept starting at the top one "one," when I needed to be at the bottom. I knew this. I just confuse easily.

Deep breath...in....out....sighhh.

Doomed, I say.

Doomed.

UPDATE: Mwahahahaa! Triumph! Victory! Forty-nine minutes. I just did tonight's chorale in forty-nine minutes, and a couple seconds. Presuming that I've actually done it right (and managed to include the requested number of chords, something I have only done twice thus far. Don't ask... It seems I am unable to count. I mean, we all know I can't count, rhythmically speaking, but one would think counting black dots on a piece of paper would be different), I might not bomb as miserably as I am expecting to tomorrow. I'm not getting my hopes up. ARGH! Why am I still awake? ......grumble......

Well, my campaign for El Presidente of the Spanish club lasted all of five minutes. At today's first meeting of the Spanish club, Professor M thought that we should get on with the elections as soon as possible. She whacked me with the roll sheet, and I stood to make my stump speech:

"What--Oh, uh, did you want me to run, Profes--? Okay... Uh. Hi, I'm running for president because, um well, I took Spanish last year," here I paused to fidget meaningfully, and look around the Spanish Lab, into the faces of my constituency, "And so now I'm taking more Spanish this year, and uh, well really, I'm better in German, but S. College doesn't offer it, so my German will just languish for a bit, I guess, heh heh.... Ah, aghem, erm. I don't really know what I have to do if I become president, but I can probably do it, if you'd all like." When the room had settled down after this last declaration, I continued, "Oh. I like Spanish though, ah, heh heh, I'm very Pro-Spanish, so don't get the wrong idea. It's just that I started in German. Er, well, I probably know more grammar in Spanish, but my German vocabulary is much bigger. Anyway...let's see...I'm a double-major.....I ride a bike? Okay, umm, I guess....well...what else...uh."

Then, having made my case, I sat down.

I for one thought my stump speech was eloquent and provocative. I feel that I raised all kinds of great issues, and really made it clear what a good job I could do. And the bandage on my head, taken with the shiner, made me look feisty and dynamic. However, age comes before beauty, and I firmly believe that this is the only reason the post went to K, a woman entering her fifth year at S. College instead. Nine to three, not bad, I mean, I could've done worse, with zero votes, as I voted for her too. I am very much a let-somebody-else-do-it-because-I'm-lazy type personality.

Interestingly, I didn't realize that running for president is the same as running for VP if you lose the election, and I was immediately, unanimously voted veep. This is unfortunate. And, no, I don't know what being veep means either. I think I get to order pizzas, preside over meetings, and hit the table with a gavel.

In other news: It's eleven-thirty. Do you know where your chorale for Theory (that you were supposed to write) is? No? What about your conducting assignments? No? Hmmm...

Yesterday I wrote that I knew I'd be demoted to fourth seat by the advent of new flautists in the wind ensemble. Hah! I am, in fact, now the "principle" flute. (Of course there's not really a principle per se; everybody has to do her time in the hot-seat. But generally, the second-year students sit first in many more pieces than the first-years, and of them, one will usually sit first the most.) This would be fantastic, were it not for one thing. I am the new principle flute by default. S., the flute who would've been the other second-year has not returned this semester, and out of three new flutlets who auditioned over the summer, only one made it in.

On the one hand this means less competition (which only matters to me because it means that, if and when I completely crash and burn in the middle of a devil-lick, for all to see and mock, at least it is less likely that there will be another on the same part as me who solidly nails the same devil-lick every time). On the other hand, I will never know if I really deserve to be seated first, or if it weren't for my being the only one, Mr. B would've lodged his baton firmly in my eye-socket. Well, no, I take that back. Mr. B would still stab me in the eye with a baton, even if I was the only flute in New York. In fact, he probably will before the semester's over. He likes to stab people in the eye. It's like an inside joke.

But on to the crux of the issue. First and foremost, this new development means that, unless I make an absolute train wreck out of the placement auditions (supposedly these are to see where to seat you within your section, but the consensus is that it's more just to see what level your musicianship is at), I am now stuck with all the really hard parts and will now be the only flute on a given part, so any threatening address from Mr. B will be directed at me alone. No longer shall we hear, "Flutes! You SOBs! What the fook do you think you're doing?! Goddamnit, don't make me kick your asses!" With a pointed stare at your Toad. Instead, it will be, "Toad, you undying bastard, don't make me come over there, or I swear on all that is holy..." That, and I am going to have to cover flute AND picc in everything. Which may be problematic, as sometimes a composer has been rude enough to write the Flute I and Picc in at the same time! What would such a silly person be thinking?

Okay. I have to go do verb drills then cry myself to sleep.

Oh yeah. In a side note, Mr. B wouldn't really say any of that, and has never, in fact, stabbed me, personally, in the eye for hitting a clinker. It is rumored, however, that he did once repeatedly slam the lid of a piano on a trumpet's head for taking liberties during a moving rendition of Danny Boy. And he may or may not have fed a certain alto sax to weasels. But these are only rumors. (please don't flunk me.)

I didn't sleep too much last night. It's like this the night before every semester; as soon as my head hits the pillow, I begin to regret everything I have done, or didn't do over the summer/winter/spring break. It isn't the "regular" classes that worry me (well, to be fair, I am wondering if I have been serious enough about Spanish since the summer term ended to be capable of expressing much of anything in that language), it's the music classes.

Our music department, like most, is pretty insular. We have but a handful of professors, and each of them teaches about a dozen classes. It is not unfeasible for a music student to be taking six or seven music classes, but have only three music professors and a studio instructor (I know, because that was me). For the last school year, Mr. B, the conductor of our wind ensemble, was also my Theory professor and my classroom professor for Performance Concentration. This semester though, Mr. C, my former Music History professor for the last year will be taking over Theory from Mr. B and Aural Skills from Mr. D, and Mr. B will now also be my Conducting professor (conducting makes me very afraid). I will have the same keyboard professor for the duration of my stay S College, and of course, Mr. T, my studio instructor (the studio instructor gives you private lessons on your primary instrument) will be the same as last year. Toad Pizza Pop Quiz: Toad's primary instrument is which of the following: a. a replica baroque cembalo, b. sousaphone, c. flute/piccolo, or d. Tibetan yak-tooth hammer dulcimer?

As you can imagine, one naturally wishes to please one's professors. But when they take on, at least, the roles of guiding light in the young student's psyche, and at most, epic, god-like status, one would rather do just about anything than disappoint them. And so I am nervous.

I know I didn't practice enough. My embouchure is stupid, that irritating urge to tap out the time has crept back into the foot, my mantra has become, "Okay, that's great. Now see if you can't play it the way it doesn't suck," and what, pray tell, is that fuzzy sound in the third octave? Oh yeah, and I am confident that I am going to be the only one in the conducting class who has the approach of, "No, no, really, I like your tempo much better, Mr. Tuba, we'll stick with that, then, heh heh..... Missing F# in the clarinet? Really? Who'da thought...?"

Doomed! Doomed, I say! Argh.. My chest is getting all tight inside, I feel woozy... I need to lay down. And I seriously doubt if I can remember half of what we learned in Theory II, which by the way, I got a friggin' B+ in, BAH! (It was an A- until I choked on the final...what the hell was even on the final? I don't remember. Incidentally, Aural Skills was the other B+, so you can see that I am rightly afraid.) Let's see...Sevenths go down...okay...parallel fifths or octaves make voice leading a dull boy... uneven fifths are allowable, but uneven octaves are right out, alternate doubling-- O' GAWD, it's too much pressure-- enghk!

Don't even ask about Aural Skills. I have the aural skills of a tsetse fly. I cannot take dictation, period. At best I might be able to give you the top and bottom voices, but the middle ones? Nuh-uh. I am horrible at sight-singing, and while I CAN hear it when I have just sung the whole etude fifty-cents flat, there is little I can do about it. And I know very few people who will regularly confuse a minor seventh for a tri-tone.

As usual, there are many discouraging things that I know to be true. I know that stress, failure, and general humiliation and misery await my sorry, flute-playing ass for the duration of the semester, in any and all performance-related courses. I know that the new flutes are going to blow me out of the water, and I know that I am going to be demoted to fourth seat. I know that I am not going to be able to write a chorale with less than one uneven ocatave or ten parallel fifths. Looking into the future, I know that I am going to be distracted periodically from my studies because I will be trying to negotiate a transfer to somewhere else, preferably in Boston, though I am happy to trek back west to California or Washington. I know that even in the unlikely event that I get into a good university, I won't be able to afford it, because I am ineligible for financial aid, yet on my own as far as tuition and books are concerned. That said, these are things that I have also known: "Sevenths resolve up." "Oh my god, I'm going to have an F average this semester, because I am going to fail Theory and Aural Skills." "Otto von Bismarck was an 80's hair-band." "Keynesian Economics is an economic theory developed by Dean Cain, which revolves around the Spandex industry." "The moon is made of blue cheese." So maybe there's hope for me yet.

First a bit of background. I am a double major. I am majored in Humanities & Social Sciences and Performance Arts: Flute. When I transfer to a four-year school, it will be for English and (most likely) Linguistics. When I grow up, I want to be a translator, a linguist, or a cowgirl. If I become a cowgirl, I want no less than three pink ponies. And a special cowgirl vest. With rhinestones.

Naturally, as I don't intend to pursue music past the two-year level, my primary major is in H&SS. Some weeks ago, I received a letter from the registrar's office at my school, telling me that they have switched my primary major to music, and changed my advisor accordingly. Here is my account of the resulting bureaucratic maze.

The day after I got the letter, I called the registrar, who promptly transferred me to Advisement, where I was asked to hold, then retransferred to the registrar, who was very helpful and kind enough to explain,"You've taken almost twice as many humanities credits as music. You are clearly not being well advised in music by the humanities advisor. To ensure that you receive good advisement, we reversed the primacy of your majors."

 "But wait," I protested, "I am not even planning to complete an associate level music degree... Not that I don't love music, not that I don't take the flute absolutely seriously, because I do love music, and am a serious student of it, but it's just that a two-year degree in music won't get me far as a translator. See? It's just been a little mix-up. So if you could just change my majors back..."

On the other end, I heard nothing but the occasional clinking of cheap plastic bangle-style bracelets. Then, finally, "Well, miss, you're going to have to come in and sign some paperwork. But we still feel that it is in your best interest to get advisement from a music advisor. Personally, I've never heard of a music major NOT wanting music advisement. I think you may have your priorities out-of-whack."

"No, wait, ma'am, you don't understand, I am not really going to transfer as a music major. I had to take it as a secondary major just to be allowed to take the music courses that were reserved for music majors. But really, honestly, my goal is to become a translator."

"I see. And you really believe that a good conservatory is going to admit you when you say yourself that you care more about becoming some kind of translator. Is that correct?"

"What? No, no you still aren't listening to me. I am NOT going to a conservatory after I leave here."

"I see."

"I am going to a regular four-year school. I want to translate."

"I see. And what about your music degree?"

"What? I'm trying to become a translator."

"You're going to translate music?"

"What?"

"Miss, if you're not willing to work with me over the phone, then you'll just need to come in person. You need to come in anyway, because we need a signature to switch your majors."

"But you switched them already! Without a signature!"

"That was an internal process. You wanting to switch them requires a signature."

"An internal process?" I sighed, "You can't just switch them right now? Over the phone?"

"No. You'll have to come in."

"Can I come in now?"

"No, we're closing."

"It's two in the afternoon!"

"Closing. Come in Monday."

 I arrived at the registrar's office Monday morning, bright and early. There was no one in line, so I went right up to the thick glass window that separates the secretaries from the incivilities of the student body. A diminutive, pointy woman with a mouth like needle-nosed pliers greeted me.

"It'll be a minute yet."

"I'm sorry?"

"Go over there and wait until I call you." I traced her glower towards a table pushed against the wall covered with course schedules, registration forms, and various announcements, flanked on either side by a garbage bin. I stood in front of the table.

"Don't block that table. You think you're the only student at this school?"

"Sorry. I just thought, since there's no one else around this morning--" The corners of Needle-Nose's mouth curled, and her nostrils flared as though she took great umbrage at my voice alone. I moved in front of the garbage bin.

"Don't block that trash can either," called Needle-Nose without looking up.

I wedged in between the bin and the table, trying not to be anymore offensive than I had already been, in the hope that it would speed the process a bit. While I waited, I watched Needle-Nose at work. First, she would grab one tri-copy form out of a large paper box, the kind that holds ten or twenty reams of five hundred sheets of paper. Next she would mark either a circle or an X (though from where I was, I couldn't tell what that could possibly mean), separate the copies, and place each one into a plastic outbox on her counter. One box for the original, one for the pink copy, and one for the yellow copy. The wall clock read eight-thirty-eight. At eight-forty-five, when Needle-Nose still showed no signs of slowing, I went back up to the window, just to make sure she hadn't forgotten about me.

"Listen, miss," she snapped, "I am very busy right now, and your impatience is only going to cause me to take longer." She broke her words off like icicles, and went back to her papers. While I was up at the counter, I took the opportunity to glance into the box she was pulling the forms from. It was over half full. I resigned myself to exile with the garbage bin.

To my astonishment, at exactly nine o'clock, Needle-Nose stopped what she was doing, stacked up the three outboxes with utmost self-satisfaction, and called me up.

"Thanks," I said, "I called on Friday, i don't know if it was you I spoke with or not, but there's just been a slight mix-up with my ma--"

"Name."

I gave her my name.

"Spell that."

I spelled it.

"Student identification number."

"What?"

"Do you not have a student identification number?"

"I, uh, I don't know... What is it? Do I have one automatically?"

She exhaled through her teeth. "Fine. No student ID. Social Security Number?"

 I gave it. She typed everything into her computer.

"It says here that you changed your primary major from Humanities to Business Music for advisement purposes."

"Business music? What? No, I'm in the performance arts program."

"Oh. Okay, we'll just change that for you," she began typing, "You'll just need to sign here, and take the form to advisement, and have them sign here--"

"No, no, no, ma'am, I am in the music performance program, but it isn't my primary major, that's Humanities. I just want to put everything back the way it was before you switched it."

"You know, that will mean that you won't get an advisor from the music department, so that--"

"I know. Just, please, make the change."

"All right. Just sign this here, take it to advisement--"

"And have an advisor sign it?"

"Yes."

"Okay, thanks so much."

Three days later I got a letter in the mail congratulating me on my decision to join the excellent Culinary Arts degree program the school offered, and to be sure to have a complete kitchen set and chef's uniform by September.