At the moment when Gandalf is attempting to rally some Minas Tirith folks, and Faramir comes by and get the chance to explain what happened to Frodo, I pause to go get a glass of water (this way I get to watch this scene again, and get the resurge of hope from Pippin that Frodo's alive), and find my Dad in the next room, watching.
"Faramir is a nice guy."
I am affronted. "Faramir isn't nice! Did you see him slaying orcs fifteen minutes ago?"
Looks at me, thinks this over. "Faramir's a nice guy."
"Faramir's a good guy," I explain. "Like Aragorn. 'Cept, all misinformed and the like. Good intentions, bad information. Should've heard 'em say, "Yo, Faramir! Ring Bad! You and your country want no truck with it!"
"Someone did need to say that to him, yeah."
"Yeah. Instead he thinks it's all strong and the like, will help save Gondor, be the only nation that DOESN'T fall to Mordor, despite being in their back pocket. Who puts their country right next to the land of evil, anyway?"
"Someone strong enough to defend against it, and keep it from getting out and wrecking everyone else's day."
"That's what they thought. Bring the ring to Gondor, brilliant. Put the most evil tool the evil guys have right smack in the safehold of the first not-evil country that the evil guys wanna steamroll. Bad information."
"Yep."
"Nice. Feh. They're good guys. They fight hard, they fight smart, and they fight for the right reasons. 'Nice' makes 'em sound all tame. There's nothing tame about Aragorn."
It should be noted that I quite admire, like, and generally approve of Aragorn (who is far too valiant to care if a random American girl approves or not), both for saving Frodo, and for stepping up to the plate and finally accepting the kingship. Rising up to his destiny, and all that. And various cool swashbuckling solid good guy things he does in battle.
"They're warriors! They're great!" Water, cookie-hunting.
"There are exceptions."
"Hmm?" Drinky-drinky.
"The Steward of Gondor is a miserable troll."
Fortunately I'd swallowed before the adjective, otherwise I'd be cleaning up the counter right about now.
At this point, we got into how he makes a lousy father figure for both Boromir and Faramir, and began debate on how Faramir ended up as good as he did with Denethorn for a dad. I love my family.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Playing Games
With winter setting in, most of the outdoor activities are curtailed, and in the vacuum the computer games rise.
Supposedly, you can tell a lot about a person by their games. Or, better still, how they respond to them.
Dad finds brightly-colored puzzle games that allow his brain to defrag while still mildly problem-solving, or possibly reflexive play. No characters, no storylines - just seeing the information and responding to it. Considering that he's usually pulling long hours (what is it with winter hours and people wrecking computer code more often?) during these months, anything to unravel the knots in his brain is good.
I play vampire games and horsie games, both of which I consider rather frivolous, but tap into a side of my imagination that I don't let play anywhere else. The POINT is that they're frivolous - I'm usually studying or something equally responsible and less silly. Getting to run around and be a vampire is completely irresponsible.
Elizabeth's interesting, because she's hailed by most of our friends as 'the most frightening' or 'the scariest' of the three sisters. She plays games about raising and training brightly colored adorable little animals. She will squee about how cute they are. She will drag you in and SHOW you how cute they are, and how many possibly color combinations they can have, and all their achievements.
She will also nail my ears to the back fence if she ever finds out that I've mentioned this. :)
Somebody in this house was into Mafia Wars for quite some time. I came into the kitchen, in search of egg nog, to hear her declare that her bull was ready to rush. "Or I could pet him. Or rotate him."
I consider this. If he's about to rush, petting him is probably not a good idea. Maybe in the game it calms him down. Or maybe if you turn him, he rushes into something else, like the neighbor's toolshed. I make eye contact and ask for clarification. "Your bull is ready to rush?"
"Brush. I can brush him!" she responds brightly. "Or he can be petted, or rotated."
Dad comes in at this moment. You can tell by the look on his face that he's really hoping she isn't talking about him. Being the only guy in the house, anything that uses the male pronoun has the potential to be him. He goes over to her to investigate.
She smiles up at him. "I'm playing Farmville!"
"You're playing what??"
"Farmville is for people who are too wimpy to play Mafia Wars. I've been resisting for months, but..." more rambling that I only half-listen to in my investigation of the refrigerator.
Her next comment reveals that Mafia Wars may not have gotten all of its hooks out of her mind. "I'm trying to grow weed to sell to the Russians!" Somewhat put-out, she continues, "So far I've got poinsettias."
I am at this point holding onto the kitchen counter, because I'm laughing too hard to stand without aid. Again, this is not Elizabeth who's playing. Selling weed to the Russians would be EXPECTED out of the middle sister in any game. Her character's actions in D&D nearly warrant the sale of tickets for each game. This is simply what Mafia Wars does to your brain, I guess.
"What?! If you're going to have a farm, it should at least be productive!"
My dad leaves, shaking his head. Back to Bejeweled.
Supposedly, you can tell a lot about a person by their games. Or, better still, how they respond to them.
Dad finds brightly-colored puzzle games that allow his brain to defrag while still mildly problem-solving, or possibly reflexive play. No characters, no storylines - just seeing the information and responding to it. Considering that he's usually pulling long hours (what is it with winter hours and people wrecking computer code more often?) during these months, anything to unravel the knots in his brain is good.
I play vampire games and horsie games, both of which I consider rather frivolous, but tap into a side of my imagination that I don't let play anywhere else. The POINT is that they're frivolous - I'm usually studying or something equally responsible and less silly. Getting to run around and be a vampire is completely irresponsible.
Elizabeth's interesting, because she's hailed by most of our friends as 'the most frightening' or 'the scariest' of the three sisters. She plays games about raising and training brightly colored adorable little animals. She will squee about how cute they are. She will drag you in and SHOW you how cute they are, and how many possibly color combinations they can have, and all their achievements.
She will also nail my ears to the back fence if she ever finds out that I've mentioned this. :)
Somebody in this house was into Mafia Wars for quite some time. I came into the kitchen, in search of egg nog, to hear her declare that her bull was ready to rush. "Or I could pet him. Or rotate him."
I consider this. If he's about to rush, petting him is probably not a good idea. Maybe in the game it calms him down. Or maybe if you turn him, he rushes into something else, like the neighbor's toolshed. I make eye contact and ask for clarification. "Your bull is ready to rush?"
"Brush. I can brush him!" she responds brightly. "Or he can be petted, or rotated."
Dad comes in at this moment. You can tell by the look on his face that he's really hoping she isn't talking about him. Being the only guy in the house, anything that uses the male pronoun has the potential to be him. He goes over to her to investigate.
She smiles up at him. "I'm playing Farmville!"
"You're playing what??"
"Farmville is for people who are too wimpy to play Mafia Wars. I've been resisting for months, but..." more rambling that I only half-listen to in my investigation of the refrigerator.
Her next comment reveals that Mafia Wars may not have gotten all of its hooks out of her mind. "I'm trying to grow weed to sell to the Russians!" Somewhat put-out, she continues, "So far I've got poinsettias."
I am at this point holding onto the kitchen counter, because I'm laughing too hard to stand without aid. Again, this is not Elizabeth who's playing. Selling weed to the Russians would be EXPECTED out of the middle sister in any game. Her character's actions in D&D nearly warrant the sale of tickets for each game. This is simply what Mafia Wars does to your brain, I guess.
"What?! If you're going to have a farm, it should at least be productive!"
My dad leaves, shaking his head. Back to Bejeweled.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
I Shall Sing, Sing My Song...
Whoever I someday marry will have to be cheerfully resigned to my nonsense.
For example, whenever I'm looking for something, but not terribly stressed about it, I tend to idly make up nonsensical songs that would amuse the kids in the daycare. Today, I was trying to get dressed for the Christmas Eve service, and found this one coming out.
Where are my dress pants,
Where did they go?
Where are my dress pants?
Baby, I don't know
Where are my dress pants,
Where can they be?
'Cause I can't show up naked
To the Nativity!
There's almost no thought that goes into these. Having a thought that I'm pursuing while running around the house seems to inevitably lead to preschool-style songs.
EDIT: I just found my Dad singing Roy Orbison (with modified lyrics) to the plants. At least now we know where I get it. My Mom's a soprano, and my Dad's a goofball.
For example, whenever I'm looking for something, but not terribly stressed about it, I tend to idly make up nonsensical songs that would amuse the kids in the daycare. Today, I was trying to get dressed for the Christmas Eve service, and found this one coming out.
Where are my dress pants,
Where did they go?
Where are my dress pants?
Baby, I don't know
Where are my dress pants,
Where can they be?
'Cause I can't show up naked
To the Nativity!
There's almost no thought that goes into these. Having a thought that I'm pursuing while running around the house seems to inevitably lead to preschool-style songs.
EDIT: I just found my Dad singing Roy Orbison (with modified lyrics) to the plants. At least now we know where I get it. My Mom's a soprano, and my Dad's a goofball.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Even More Introspection
Tonight, the kid and I did sisterly shopping exercises. This is an important part of female bonding. Or so they tell us. I speculate that time together doing anything you enjoy could be bonding. All of the Camp Ladies were supposed to get together for Laser Tag later tonight, I think we bond much better with that sort of thing.
The business of my sister being in college (and having a boyfriend who's older than I am) affects nothing about her different nicknames. She's the youngest; she's the kid. Logic suggests that at some point, this will have to change. Precedence suggests that it never will.
And, yes, two days before Christmas is a perfectly fine time to go gift shopping. How else are we supposed to get the biggest snowstorm for driving conditions? We can't plan these things - such a combination must be created that Fate can't resist throwing the proverbial monkeywrench into the works. If we went shopping in November, we'd only have crowds to contend with. This is much more interesting.
I was shopping for Mom, she was shopping for Dad. Bed, Death, and Beyond was close enough to Kohl's to satisfy the kid. BDB is a miraculous place - I wander in, certain that here, at least, I will find something for Mom. The whole store has home stuff. And then I realize, as I wander the aisles, that everything here she either already has, she has a better version of it, she has no need of it, or it's definitely not her style. Amazing!
I think I found a pair of socks that might do, but really not the direction I was hoping for.
Kohl's. Ay. In high school, I'd had friends who worked here. I narrowly escaped working here myself, thanks to a rejected interview. Penney's was the other killer for those of us who wanted a decent job in high school. It's just the hours. Some of us are indeed planning on working in the fields of medicine or music education, but everyone else hates a twelve-hour shift.
This led to a conversation with the nice girl cashiering. She's somewhere between seventeen and college-freshman, and I asked if she was closing tonight. Yeah, she said ruefully - almost sadly, really. Kohl's doesn't close until midnight, and if you work retail, you know you've got an extra hour of cleanup after the store officially closes. She was more worried about the weather than anything else, she had to drive back to Dodge Center that night.
Well, do you have anyplace in town where you can crash if the roads are too bad? I was thinking of our family's tactics - all of us have friends in Roch who will take us in for a night. I could probably show up at my ex's mom's, and she'd welcome me in. It's Minnesota - as long as you know someone's name, you're going to offer them a place to sleep if they don't have anywhere else. I don't know if that reflects more on how nice we are, or how bad our weather can get, but it's part of the unspoken culture.
No, she doesn't. And I mentally bite my lip. My hometown is directly on her way home - there's really only one road that you'd be taking from Rochester to Dodge Center, but it's the third town on her way out from here, and mine's the first. My house is easy to find - if you can make it to Byron, you can find my house. I will meet you at the KT if you can't find my house, and get you there safe.
I really want to give this girl my name, my phone number. We've got the couch room for another four people to stay here if they needed it. My house is easy to find. It's safe. In the morning, the weather will be better - it always is. From here to Dodge Center, without ANY safe checkpoint, in this blizzard? Not okay.
Doesn't matter that I don't know her. She's of an age with my sister, and I can't help it - every girl like that might as well BE my sister. If she's in trouble, I want to be able to help. Even if she doesn't need it, sometimes it's a lot off your mind to know that if things ARE too wretched, you've got a fallback.
Of course, she wouldn't accept if I offered. That's the other side of Minnesota-nice. The first half is that you offer whatever you have; the second half is that you refuse whatever you're offered, unless it's offered at least three times. There's an exception if you're really desperate, and that's because when you're desperate, manners be hanged.
Same thing happened at the bookstore the other day. A woman came in, her husband's in the hospital, so she's staying at the Kahler for a few days. Not realizing that Minnesota could be colder than her home state, she'd forgotten her coat, or figured that she didn't need it. I happen to have a really nice coat - it was a gift from my mom one year. It's suede and warm and huge and heavy and fabulously warm. Warm warm warm. Wonderfully warm. I love my coat. But, really, for that weekend, I didn't need it. I work indoors. I usually park in the garage, so I'm outside for all of forty seconds before I get to the skyway. If we went off snipe hunting in the woods, I could probably borrow one of my sister's extra coats. All of this ran through my mind, and I wanted to say, "You can borrow mine, you're just in town for a couple of days. You're at the Kahler, you'll see us at the bookstore most days. It's warm, and it's no trouble for me - really." But I didn't. I thought it might be too weird. The incident stayed with me.
Because, so what if it's weird? I already knew that I wouldn't see her again after this trip. If she turned it down, no big, it's already forgotten. If she accepted, it'd be because she really needed it, and I was okay with that. Yeah, okay, there's a chance that she'd be too busy on her departure day to get it back to me, and I'd really miss it (this is probably the nicest coat I've ever had), but forget about that, what if she needs it now?
And what if she really did need a place to crash tonight, because the roads were wretched on the way to Kasson (as a delivery-working friend of mine mentioned later), and I was the only person who'd asked how long she was going to be there that night?
Denise said, as soon as we were back out in the snow, that I was a very caring person, and she was surprised that I hadn't offered. Not surprised because it was what she would expect of anyone, but surprised because she knows me, and she saw it on my face. I told her that this was part of the reason that I need to move out soon - it's not my house. I can't actually offer it like that without checking with the parents. Or so I rationalized to her. Thinking about it, I knew Mom would probably be fine with it, and Dad's the one who's instilled in all three of us that "look out for other people" business. My excuse only worked as long as I was talking about generic parents, not the ones I actually have.
Three years ago, I was working as a cashier in one of the shopping Meccas of Rochester. There was a woman who needed help with something, but she was deaf. Of the twelve or so cashiers who were working, I was the only one who had even a rudimentary grasp of ASL, but I didn't use it then. I figured that it wasn't good enough, I didn't know enough, it wouldn't be enough to help. And really, she was just trying to find a certain kind of bread, so maybe it wasn't that big a deal. But I still remember the frustration on her face, that there wasn't anybody who could really help her at the time.
Isn't that weird? I know I've stepped up to help dozens of times at Camp, or church, or random people at the gas station...whatever. All these random things, where I saw what needed to be done (or, more likely, someone told me what needed to be done), and I just did it. Or we did it, and it was cool, and something about being together. And I know there've been times when I saw something bad, and wished that there was something that I could do about it, but I didn't have anything I could offer. I don't remember any of those, though. Not the ones where I helped, because that was taken care of and I felt good, but it was time to move on to the next thing. Not the ones where I couldn't do anything.
I remember the ones where I knew exactly what I could do to help, and I didn't do it. Here's hoping I can learn from that.
On the subject of random things I remember, it's been almost two years since a night when a friend was trying to make a decision, and without knowing what the options were, I asked him which one he'd regret more if he didn't do it. Made up his mind on the spot.
Hopefully I've got the same answer now.
The business of my sister being in college (and having a boyfriend who's older than I am) affects nothing about her different nicknames. She's the youngest; she's the kid. Logic suggests that at some point, this will have to change. Precedence suggests that it never will.
And, yes, two days before Christmas is a perfectly fine time to go gift shopping. How else are we supposed to get the biggest snowstorm for driving conditions? We can't plan these things - such a combination must be created that Fate can't resist throwing the proverbial monkeywrench into the works. If we went shopping in November, we'd only have crowds to contend with. This is much more interesting.
I was shopping for Mom, she was shopping for Dad. Bed, Death, and Beyond was close enough to Kohl's to satisfy the kid. BDB is a miraculous place - I wander in, certain that here, at least, I will find something for Mom. The whole store has home stuff. And then I realize, as I wander the aisles, that everything here she either already has, she has a better version of it, she has no need of it, or it's definitely not her style. Amazing!
I think I found a pair of socks that might do, but really not the direction I was hoping for.
Kohl's. Ay. In high school, I'd had friends who worked here. I narrowly escaped working here myself, thanks to a rejected interview. Penney's was the other killer for those of us who wanted a decent job in high school. It's just the hours. Some of us are indeed planning on working in the fields of medicine or music education, but everyone else hates a twelve-hour shift.
This led to a conversation with the nice girl cashiering. She's somewhere between seventeen and college-freshman, and I asked if she was closing tonight. Yeah, she said ruefully - almost sadly, really. Kohl's doesn't close until midnight, and if you work retail, you know you've got an extra hour of cleanup after the store officially closes. She was more worried about the weather than anything else, she had to drive back to Dodge Center that night.
Well, do you have anyplace in town where you can crash if the roads are too bad? I was thinking of our family's tactics - all of us have friends in Roch who will take us in for a night. I could probably show up at my ex's mom's, and she'd welcome me in. It's Minnesota - as long as you know someone's name, you're going to offer them a place to sleep if they don't have anywhere else. I don't know if that reflects more on how nice we are, or how bad our weather can get, but it's part of the unspoken culture.
No, she doesn't. And I mentally bite my lip. My hometown is directly on her way home - there's really only one road that you'd be taking from Rochester to Dodge Center, but it's the third town on her way out from here, and mine's the first. My house is easy to find - if you can make it to Byron, you can find my house. I will meet you at the KT if you can't find my house, and get you there safe.
I really want to give this girl my name, my phone number. We've got the couch room for another four people to stay here if they needed it. My house is easy to find. It's safe. In the morning, the weather will be better - it always is. From here to Dodge Center, without ANY safe checkpoint, in this blizzard? Not okay.
Doesn't matter that I don't know her. She's of an age with my sister, and I can't help it - every girl like that might as well BE my sister. If she's in trouble, I want to be able to help. Even if she doesn't need it, sometimes it's a lot off your mind to know that if things ARE too wretched, you've got a fallback.
Of course, she wouldn't accept if I offered. That's the other side of Minnesota-nice. The first half is that you offer whatever you have; the second half is that you refuse whatever you're offered, unless it's offered at least three times. There's an exception if you're really desperate, and that's because when you're desperate, manners be hanged.
Same thing happened at the bookstore the other day. A woman came in, her husband's in the hospital, so she's staying at the Kahler for a few days. Not realizing that Minnesota could be colder than her home state, she'd forgotten her coat, or figured that she didn't need it. I happen to have a really nice coat - it was a gift from my mom one year. It's suede and warm and huge and heavy and fabulously warm. Warm warm warm. Wonderfully warm. I love my coat. But, really, for that weekend, I didn't need it. I work indoors. I usually park in the garage, so I'm outside for all of forty seconds before I get to the skyway. If we went off snipe hunting in the woods, I could probably borrow one of my sister's extra coats. All of this ran through my mind, and I wanted to say, "You can borrow mine, you're just in town for a couple of days. You're at the Kahler, you'll see us at the bookstore most days. It's warm, and it's no trouble for me - really." But I didn't. I thought it might be too weird. The incident stayed with me.
Because, so what if it's weird? I already knew that I wouldn't see her again after this trip. If she turned it down, no big, it's already forgotten. If she accepted, it'd be because she really needed it, and I was okay with that. Yeah, okay, there's a chance that she'd be too busy on her departure day to get it back to me, and I'd really miss it (this is probably the nicest coat I've ever had), but forget about that, what if she needs it now?
And what if she really did need a place to crash tonight, because the roads were wretched on the way to Kasson (as a delivery-working friend of mine mentioned later), and I was the only person who'd asked how long she was going to be there that night?
Denise said, as soon as we were back out in the snow, that I was a very caring person, and she was surprised that I hadn't offered. Not surprised because it was what she would expect of anyone, but surprised because she knows me, and she saw it on my face. I told her that this was part of the reason that I need to move out soon - it's not my house. I can't actually offer it like that without checking with the parents. Or so I rationalized to her. Thinking about it, I knew Mom would probably be fine with it, and Dad's the one who's instilled in all three of us that "look out for other people" business. My excuse only worked as long as I was talking about generic parents, not the ones I actually have.
Three years ago, I was working as a cashier in one of the shopping Meccas of Rochester. There was a woman who needed help with something, but she was deaf. Of the twelve or so cashiers who were working, I was the only one who had even a rudimentary grasp of ASL, but I didn't use it then. I figured that it wasn't good enough, I didn't know enough, it wouldn't be enough to help. And really, she was just trying to find a certain kind of bread, so maybe it wasn't that big a deal. But I still remember the frustration on her face, that there wasn't anybody who could really help her at the time.
Isn't that weird? I know I've stepped up to help dozens of times at Camp, or church, or random people at the gas station...whatever. All these random things, where I saw what needed to be done (or, more likely, someone told me what needed to be done), and I just did it. Or we did it, and it was cool, and something about being together. And I know there've been times when I saw something bad, and wished that there was something that I could do about it, but I didn't have anything I could offer. I don't remember any of those, though. Not the ones where I helped, because that was taken care of and I felt good, but it was time to move on to the next thing. Not the ones where I couldn't do anything.
I remember the ones where I knew exactly what I could do to help, and I didn't do it. Here's hoping I can learn from that.
On the subject of random things I remember, it's been almost two years since a night when a friend was trying to make a decision, and without knowing what the options were, I asked him which one he'd regret more if he didn't do it. Made up his mind on the spot.
Hopefully I've got the same answer now.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Easy Day
Completely took the day off. Can't remember the last time this wasn't illness-related. Felt marvelous. Really, not just an adjective - I was marveling at feeling this good. It was a physical marvel.
I slept 'til eleven, dreaming strange dreams of sci-fi and imagination. I seem to recall jetskiing and saving a civilization of koala bears. They made me their prince, until I explained to them that I was female, and then they angrily stole back the sash and snubbed me out of the village. It's okay. They didn't smell so great. And I had toast.
In hopes of meeting my sloth quota for today, I proceeded to stay in bed another hour after waking. Reading. Denise came in to share body space and blankets, and we got into a few short discussions about what she was reading. She missed a comma in a verse that made the proverb in question far more entertaining, and we had some fun with that.
Read more over breakfast, and listened to Denise practice some piano. Read four more books while she took Beau to the dog park. Thought about watching The Postman again. Haven't seen it for about a year, but there's something about the story that I like. Denise and I now have a date to watch it together sometime before Christmas.
I do actually have another sister, we all live in the same house, but her schedule allows fewer meetings some days.
The Postman had to be postponed, as one of my books slipped to the floor and I took a four-hour nap by the Christmas tree. Very cool, balsam-flavored dreams. I was in Narnia, but I never left the wood outside the wardrobe, just kept going through the trees, because I had this job about finding lost travelers and guiding them. Guiding them away from the witch, or back to the wardrobe, or to Aslan's How, I don't know. But I kept waking up and seeing the lights and needles and familiar ornaments that I've seen since I was a child, and they made me smile before I slipped back in again.
Had supper with the family (save for Mom, who's at Jazz rehearsal). There's something funny about having Chinese days before Christmas. When I was a kid, Chinese was in the same mental category as McDonalds - it's fun junk food that you pass off as a meal when you don't have time for anything better. I like it better now. Mostly because the place up the street from our house believes in giving everyone more rice than they should be able to eat in a night, so I can have a whole little bucket to myself.
My carb-loving is the reason that my middle sister and I have the same skeletal frame and drastically different weights. And, happily snacking on my bread, mashed potatoes, or rice, I don't particularly care. Weight's a number, and you cannot measure happiness in units.
We tried once, using a kiss as a unit of happiness. Fresh bread translated to four kisses of happiness, fresh bread that Mom made translates to about sixteen. This is now a touchy concept, as two of the three girls are unexpectedly single. It also doesn't work - I haven't been kissed in months, and I'm plainly happy on a deep level, though it gets a little random near the surface.
A fit of whimsy seized me while I was checking my email, and I doodled a caricature of one of my favorite teachers. As my caricatures go, this one isn't half-bad. Came out looking shorter, and the facial expression was more what I thought about grading papers than anything the instructor might actually wear, but it made me smile.
I'm usually drawing women. I need to practice drawing guys. Guys don't have the curves that girls do, so I have to think of them as walking polygons. With girls, the more dressed up they are, the tighter and more form-fitting everything is that they're wearing. Up to a certain point, it also means that they're wearing less. With guys, if they're wearing tight stuff, it's usually very casual, and the more formal the attire becomes, the more layers it seems to involve.
I usually draw while listening to music. This might be the one time when Christmas carols don't work, and Pandora fails me. It has to be something more controlled, because I stay with the same emotion the whole time I'm sketching. Once the emotion shifts, whatever I was drawing just wanders off.
But it was good. Really laid back, accomplished squat, but y'know, that might be okay sometimes. It didn't feel like guilt, when you think you'll feel better for knocking off a few chores and then later you feel worse. It just felt good, like this needed to be done. "Nothing" needed to get done, because I hadn't taken care of it for awhile. It was a good day.
I slept 'til eleven, dreaming strange dreams of sci-fi and imagination. I seem to recall jetskiing and saving a civilization of koala bears. They made me their prince, until I explained to them that I was female, and then they angrily stole back the sash and snubbed me out of the village. It's okay. They didn't smell so great. And I had toast.
In hopes of meeting my sloth quota for today, I proceeded to stay in bed another hour after waking. Reading. Denise came in to share body space and blankets, and we got into a few short discussions about what she was reading. She missed a comma in a verse that made the proverb in question far more entertaining, and we had some fun with that.
Read more over breakfast, and listened to Denise practice some piano. Read four more books while she took Beau to the dog park. Thought about watching The Postman again. Haven't seen it for about a year, but there's something about the story that I like. Denise and I now have a date to watch it together sometime before Christmas.
I do actually have another sister, we all live in the same house, but her schedule allows fewer meetings some days.
The Postman had to be postponed, as one of my books slipped to the floor and I took a four-hour nap by the Christmas tree. Very cool, balsam-flavored dreams. I was in Narnia, but I never left the wood outside the wardrobe, just kept going through the trees, because I had this job about finding lost travelers and guiding them. Guiding them away from the witch, or back to the wardrobe, or to Aslan's How, I don't know. But I kept waking up and seeing the lights and needles and familiar ornaments that I've seen since I was a child, and they made me smile before I slipped back in again.
Had supper with the family (save for Mom, who's at Jazz rehearsal). There's something funny about having Chinese days before Christmas. When I was a kid, Chinese was in the same mental category as McDonalds - it's fun junk food that you pass off as a meal when you don't have time for anything better. I like it better now. Mostly because the place up the street from our house believes in giving everyone more rice than they should be able to eat in a night, so I can have a whole little bucket to myself.
My carb-loving is the reason that my middle sister and I have the same skeletal frame and drastically different weights. And, happily snacking on my bread, mashed potatoes, or rice, I don't particularly care. Weight's a number, and you cannot measure happiness in units.
We tried once, using a kiss as a unit of happiness. Fresh bread translated to four kisses of happiness, fresh bread that Mom made translates to about sixteen. This is now a touchy concept, as two of the three girls are unexpectedly single. It also doesn't work - I haven't been kissed in months, and I'm plainly happy on a deep level, though it gets a little random near the surface.
A fit of whimsy seized me while I was checking my email, and I doodled a caricature of one of my favorite teachers. As my caricatures go, this one isn't half-bad. Came out looking shorter, and the facial expression was more what I thought about grading papers than anything the instructor might actually wear, but it made me smile.
I'm usually drawing women. I need to practice drawing guys. Guys don't have the curves that girls do, so I have to think of them as walking polygons. With girls, the more dressed up they are, the tighter and more form-fitting everything is that they're wearing. Up to a certain point, it also means that they're wearing less. With guys, if they're wearing tight stuff, it's usually very casual, and the more formal the attire becomes, the more layers it seems to involve.
I usually draw while listening to music. This might be the one time when Christmas carols don't work, and Pandora fails me. It has to be something more controlled, because I stay with the same emotion the whole time I'm sketching. Once the emotion shifts, whatever I was drawing just wanders off.
But it was good. Really laid back, accomplished squat, but y'know, that might be okay sometimes. It didn't feel like guilt, when you think you'll feel better for knocking off a few chores and then later you feel worse. It just felt good, like this needed to be done. "Nothing" needed to get done, because I hadn't taken care of it for awhile. It was a good day.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Can't Buy Me Heart
I observed once to my psych teacher that there seems to be a strong inverted correlation between how much you love your job, and how much you get paid for it. She agreed completely. This is not always true, obviously - I worked the typical fast food job as a teenager, was not a fan, and was not paid at all well for it. But I also worked as a waitress, which meant that with tips I was making double the fast food wage. I think that job might have been okay if I wasn't carrying two others at the time, but it wasn't exactly something I believed in.
I know a pastor who spent a year living under a bridge in England, in the years before he really knew what he wanted to do with his life. He lightly recommends this to the college students - he plainly thinks it's a good idea, but he's also aware that he's talking to the doctors' kids. ARC is the doctors' church, in the doctors' town. The teenagers know that if they turn their backs on their parents' substantial financial support, these same parents might take it personally, that the kids are rejecting them, not just the money.
It's been pointed out that most people keep that kind of teenage-brain until they're about twenty-five. This has a lot to do with my mom's preference that none of us sisters marry before that magical half-decade. But, we still expect kids to know what they want to do well enough to pick a degree and finish it up a few years before then. I admire the kids who do. I kind of wish I was one of them.
Frankly, if I could survive on it, I'd work with kids, teenagers, whoever wanted a counselor/teacher/random-buddy in a camp setting for life. I probably could survive on it, if I wasn't living in an ecosystem where humans required protection from the elements for three-fourths of the year. I've a friend who wants to spend a year or two riding trains hobo-style, and forget about the money and the systems. Another friend wants to move to Wisconsin, away from all the people, build a cabin, get married (we think he may have to come back in contact with people again) and raise his kids with nothing more technologically advanced than a radio in their house.
Of course, this is the same friend who believes that he was sent to this world to replace Garrison Keillor.
There's a recklessness, I commented to someone recently, that comes from losing everything. Liked the idea and it ended up in a paper where I may have done more rambling than actual writing. Despite losing my English teacher's respect for me (if, by that point in the semester, he had any left), I think the idea holds true. "Solid!" as Spaz would say. I think that once a person loses everything that he thinks matters - not losing everything, just everything that matters - then he reaches this point of absolute fearlessness. No one can take anything more away from him - there's nothing to be afraid of losing. No one can really reward him, either, because he now has this understanding that everything can be lost. He's probably not far from going beyond what makes us human by then, but there's no fear left. Without fear, and without rewards, there's no control left.
In keeping with my 'nerdlet' title, I can explain that this is where the Reavers come from in the Firefly series. They've been alone too long, they've seen too much blank space, they've lost what it is that makes them human, and they're now uncontrollable. They don't rape, murder, and cannibalize for pleasure, they do it to steal the humanity from everyone else. "Because the status is not...quo." Or they would if they had enough rationale left to analyze why they do it.
I don't know what I'd be like if I lost everything. I know that I don't want to know. There's a very ugly side of every person somewhere in there. You combat it with finding joy, appreciating beauty, helping people who need you, all that good stuff. Maybe I just work at Camp because it's the best combat I've found against all that. Or maybe it's the satisfaction of giving everything you've got to somebody who needs it more than you do.
There's a thought. Huge difference between giving everything you have to something that matters, and having everything that matters be taken from you. The psychological response is fascinating. Practically speaking, you're still empty-handed at the end of it, but you're not. Life generates. As long as you're alive, you've still got something, even if it's bitterness. You can hang onto bitterness.
So, what if we're all giving everything we've got, to something that matters, so that nothing can come along and steal it? Is that good? Is it acceptable? Can something like that even be morally judged?
It's entirely possible that, the instant you believe that you're qualified to morally judge another person, you're disqualified by that belief.
I know a pastor who spent a year living under a bridge in England, in the years before he really knew what he wanted to do with his life. He lightly recommends this to the college students - he plainly thinks it's a good idea, but he's also aware that he's talking to the doctors' kids. ARC is the doctors' church, in the doctors' town. The teenagers know that if they turn their backs on their parents' substantial financial support, these same parents might take it personally, that the kids are rejecting them, not just the money.
It's been pointed out that most people keep that kind of teenage-brain until they're about twenty-five. This has a lot to do with my mom's preference that none of us sisters marry before that magical half-decade. But, we still expect kids to know what they want to do well enough to pick a degree and finish it up a few years before then. I admire the kids who do. I kind of wish I was one of them.
Frankly, if I could survive on it, I'd work with kids, teenagers, whoever wanted a counselor/teacher/random-buddy in a camp setting for life. I probably could survive on it, if I wasn't living in an ecosystem where humans required protection from the elements for three-fourths of the year. I've a friend who wants to spend a year or two riding trains hobo-style, and forget about the money and the systems. Another friend wants to move to Wisconsin, away from all the people, build a cabin, get married (we think he may have to come back in contact with people again) and raise his kids with nothing more technologically advanced than a radio in their house.
Of course, this is the same friend who believes that he was sent to this world to replace Garrison Keillor.
There's a recklessness, I commented to someone recently, that comes from losing everything. Liked the idea and it ended up in a paper where I may have done more rambling than actual writing. Despite losing my English teacher's respect for me (if, by that point in the semester, he had any left), I think the idea holds true. "Solid!" as Spaz would say. I think that once a person loses everything that he thinks matters - not losing everything, just everything that matters - then he reaches this point of absolute fearlessness. No one can take anything more away from him - there's nothing to be afraid of losing. No one can really reward him, either, because he now has this understanding that everything can be lost. He's probably not far from going beyond what makes us human by then, but there's no fear left. Without fear, and without rewards, there's no control left.
In keeping with my 'nerdlet' title, I can explain that this is where the Reavers come from in the Firefly series. They've been alone too long, they've seen too much blank space, they've lost what it is that makes them human, and they're now uncontrollable. They don't rape, murder, and cannibalize for pleasure, they do it to steal the humanity from everyone else. "Because the status is not...quo." Or they would if they had enough rationale left to analyze why they do it.
I don't know what I'd be like if I lost everything. I know that I don't want to know. There's a very ugly side of every person somewhere in there. You combat it with finding joy, appreciating beauty, helping people who need you, all that good stuff. Maybe I just work at Camp because it's the best combat I've found against all that. Or maybe it's the satisfaction of giving everything you've got to somebody who needs it more than you do.
There's a thought. Huge difference between giving everything you have to something that matters, and having everything that matters be taken from you. The psychological response is fascinating. Practically speaking, you're still empty-handed at the end of it, but you're not. Life generates. As long as you're alive, you've still got something, even if it's bitterness. You can hang onto bitterness.
So, what if we're all giving everything we've got, to something that matters, so that nothing can come along and steal it? Is that good? Is it acceptable? Can something like that even be morally judged?
It's entirely possible that, the instant you believe that you're qualified to morally judge another person, you're disqualified by that belief.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Guy Fun
"The recipe for fun is pretty simple raising boys: Add to any activity an element of danger, stir in a little exploration, add a dash of destruction, and you've got yourself a winner."
-John Eldridge
I can believe this. I can FIRMLY believe this. I have seen evidence of this on nearly every adventure with the guys, and this line just explains it to my girl-brain: "Oh, THAT'S what they're doing."
Ethan and I were talking about this the other day. We were at the mall, because neither of us really 'get' the mall, but I was starved for sunlight and it was too cold to walk and talk outside. By definition, if you say, "it's a guy thing," you're referring to anything where all the guys say, "Cool!" and all the girls say, "Why?!"
For example, last summer, my dear friend and manager (for lack of a better term) was making plans to build a trebuchet at Camp.
Immediately,
Guys: Cool!
Girls: Why?!
Being female, I can see the logic on the latter. Camp is about the kids. You couldn't possibly keep the kids off the thing. Camp only owns property on one side of the river. Presumably, if you have this thing AT Camp, the already-cranky neighbors on the OTHER side of the river are going to assume that it will at some point be used against them. There's limited open horizontal space at Camp - if you WERE to build such thing, the only stable place for it is in the middle of the soccer field.
But, after being convinced of the opening statement here, and hanging out with the guys, I can see the logic supporting having a siege engine at Camp. Mainly, that there isn't one there yet.
This, of course, is not to suggest that if there were a trebuchet at Camp, the guys would scrap these plans. Never. Rather, the plans would immediately be to improve the trebuchet, to hurl new and larger objects with it, to increase its accuracy, and most importantly, to at some point build a second one, so that battles might be had. At some point, this would be so out of control that we would be changing our name to Camp Trebuchet*.
Guys: "Duh."
Girls: "What??"
*I actually kind of like the ring this has to it, but I can't quite see parents being keen on sending their offspring to such a place. Or, at least, I can't see mothers sending their offspring to such a place. Fathers would be trying to figure out how they could sign up as campers.
This is because, no matter how old a guy gets, some part of him will always be fifteen. And I think that there's been some unnecessary bashing of that quality. I can't precisely pin down what it is, but there seems to be something truly worthwhile about that explorative spirit that has far greater priorities than self-preservation.
Yes, entertainment is also a result, but that might be more of a byproduct than anything else.
-John Eldridge
I can believe this. I can FIRMLY believe this. I have seen evidence of this on nearly every adventure with the guys, and this line just explains it to my girl-brain: "Oh, THAT'S what they're doing."
Ethan and I were talking about this the other day. We were at the mall, because neither of us really 'get' the mall, but I was starved for sunlight and it was too cold to walk and talk outside. By definition, if you say, "it's a guy thing," you're referring to anything where all the guys say, "Cool!" and all the girls say, "Why?!"
For example, last summer, my dear friend and manager (for lack of a better term) was making plans to build a trebuchet at Camp.
Immediately,
Guys: Cool!
Girls: Why?!
Being female, I can see the logic on the latter. Camp is about the kids. You couldn't possibly keep the kids off the thing. Camp only owns property on one side of the river. Presumably, if you have this thing AT Camp, the already-cranky neighbors on the OTHER side of the river are going to assume that it will at some point be used against them. There's limited open horizontal space at Camp - if you WERE to build such thing, the only stable place for it is in the middle of the soccer field.
But, after being convinced of the opening statement here, and hanging out with the guys, I can see the logic supporting having a siege engine at Camp. Mainly, that there isn't one there yet.
This, of course, is not to suggest that if there were a trebuchet at Camp, the guys would scrap these plans. Never. Rather, the plans would immediately be to improve the trebuchet, to hurl new and larger objects with it, to increase its accuracy, and most importantly, to at some point build a second one, so that battles might be had. At some point, this would be so out of control that we would be changing our name to Camp Trebuchet*.
Guys: "Duh."
Girls: "What??"
*I actually kind of like the ring this has to it, but I can't quite see parents being keen on sending their offspring to such a place. Or, at least, I can't see mothers sending their offspring to such a place. Fathers would be trying to figure out how they could sign up as campers.
This is because, no matter how old a guy gets, some part of him will always be fifteen. And I think that there's been some unnecessary bashing of that quality. I can't precisely pin down what it is, but there seems to be something truly worthwhile about that explorative spirit that has far greater priorities than self-preservation.
Yes, entertainment is also a result, but that might be more of a byproduct than anything else.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Bear and I have a tradition.
It started one year with Bear asking, "Hey, what do you want for Christmas?"
The problem here is that I don't really get gifts. I receive them, certainly. I just don't understand the point. If I need something, I go get it. There's usually not a lot that I need, I have too much stuff as it is. What with moving in a month, I'm trying to clear out a lot of the stuff that I do have.
A dear friend of mine takes this concept a step further. You can't give Rahni anything. It doesn't work. She's terribly polite, and will accept it with a smile around whose edges plays a touch of uncertainty. And, within the next six months, no matter what it is, she will have gotten rid of it. She already has what she needs, and anything else is just extra. If an item is extra, it serves no purpose - gotta clear it out for the things that do.
There's an Aborigine saying, something to the effect of, "It's only a gift if the receiver wants it." If it's something that they didn't really want, then it's just a gift to you, the giver. You get to feel better, because you got them something.
So, I told Bear that I just wanted a day. Just the two of us.
This is kind of a big sacrifice from Bear, and I knew this when I asked. He's wildly popular, frenetically social, and terribly busy. All the time, everywhere he goes. That's Bear. Asking for a day takes a lot of time away from the other things he's doing. Asking for a day with no one else - Bear multitasks at socializing. It might just be because that's the only way that he can manage most of his relationships - that he sees six people at a time.
But, okay. Well, then the next issue comes up. What do we do with a day together?
I like the outdoors. And the woods. And getting active, and competing for the right to be top-dog, and talking about all kinds of things. Bear likes big social groups, and video games, and listening to dark music.
So, we settle on a movie day.
It's well-understood that Bear and I have wildly different tastes. Last year, we did an every-other thing.
1) Willow
2) Requiem for a Dream
3) Pretty in Pink (the only reason to watch this movie is Duckie, but Bear hadn't met Duckie, and that simply had to be rectified)
4) Something Fairly Dark Whose Title And Plot I Can No Longer Remember
5) Yellowbeard (meeting halfway)
This year, the plan ran:
1) Stardust
2) Fight Club
3) Peter Pan (2003)
4) The Pianist (kind of meeting halfway)
Save that somebody forgot his copy Fight Club back on the other side of the Rockies, and The Pianist was not available. Somehow, The Big Lebowski made it on the list instead.
It started one year with Bear asking, "Hey, what do you want for Christmas?"
The problem here is that I don't really get gifts. I receive them, certainly. I just don't understand the point. If I need something, I go get it. There's usually not a lot that I need, I have too much stuff as it is. What with moving in a month, I'm trying to clear out a lot of the stuff that I do have.
A dear friend of mine takes this concept a step further. You can't give Rahni anything. It doesn't work. She's terribly polite, and will accept it with a smile around whose edges plays a touch of uncertainty. And, within the next six months, no matter what it is, she will have gotten rid of it. She already has what she needs, and anything else is just extra. If an item is extra, it serves no purpose - gotta clear it out for the things that do.
There's an Aborigine saying, something to the effect of, "It's only a gift if the receiver wants it." If it's something that they didn't really want, then it's just a gift to you, the giver. You get to feel better, because you got them something.
So, I told Bear that I just wanted a day. Just the two of us.
This is kind of a big sacrifice from Bear, and I knew this when I asked. He's wildly popular, frenetically social, and terribly busy. All the time, everywhere he goes. That's Bear. Asking for a day takes a lot of time away from the other things he's doing. Asking for a day with no one else - Bear multitasks at socializing. It might just be because that's the only way that he can manage most of his relationships - that he sees six people at a time.
But, okay. Well, then the next issue comes up. What do we do with a day together?
I like the outdoors. And the woods. And getting active, and competing for the right to be top-dog, and talking about all kinds of things. Bear likes big social groups, and video games, and listening to dark music.
So, we settle on a movie day.
It's well-understood that Bear and I have wildly different tastes. Last year, we did an every-other thing.
1) Willow
2) Requiem for a Dream
3) Pretty in Pink (the only reason to watch this movie is Duckie, but Bear hadn't met Duckie, and that simply had to be rectified)
4) Something Fairly Dark Whose Title And Plot I Can No Longer Remember
5) Yellowbeard (meeting halfway)
This year, the plan ran:
1) Stardust
2) Fight Club
3) Peter Pan (2003)
4) The Pianist (kind of meeting halfway)
Save that somebody forgot his copy Fight Club back on the other side of the Rockies, and The Pianist was not available. Somehow, The Big Lebowski made it on the list instead.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Debate
Arguments against:
It's going to be rather noticeable. I did not design this one small. While I can easily dress to conceal it for work and day-to-day life, it'll be really obvious in a swimsuit. Do I care? Well...I guess it depends on who I'm going swimming with. Most people, I don't see it as a problem.
I'm going to get older. My body's going to shift. What's this going to look like when I'm sixty? Well, the point was about what it stands for, more than how it looks. The added wrinkles and sag will quite possibly render it less attractive, and I need to figure out how much that matters to me.
I'm going to get married at some point. I don't know how, or when, or possibly even why, but I know God's got it planned. And I don't know whether it's the kind of thing where my husband would think it was cool, or he'd be disappointed by it.
Even if he's cool with it, there's a real possibility that I'm going to be a grandmother someday. Well, I guess that's not really a motivator, Grandma's going to be pretty odd in the grandkids opinions anyway. :)
And, possibly the biggest motivator, how much it'll cost, vs. a number of much better things I'd rather do with that money. Like freeing a couple of girls from slavery.
So, in conclusion - I'd go for it, if I knew my husband would think it was cool, and I couldn't give the money to anything else. But since I know of better places for the finances, and I don't yet know my husband's view, I think this one's out.
It does look really cool, though.
It's going to be rather noticeable. I did not design this one small. While I can easily dress to conceal it for work and day-to-day life, it'll be really obvious in a swimsuit. Do I care? Well...I guess it depends on who I'm going swimming with. Most people, I don't see it as a problem.
I'm going to get older. My body's going to shift. What's this going to look like when I'm sixty? Well, the point was about what it stands for, more than how it looks. The added wrinkles and sag will quite possibly render it less attractive, and I need to figure out how much that matters to me.
I'm going to get married at some point. I don't know how, or when, or possibly even why, but I know God's got it planned. And I don't know whether it's the kind of thing where my husband would think it was cool, or he'd be disappointed by it.
Even if he's cool with it, there's a real possibility that I'm going to be a grandmother someday. Well, I guess that's not really a motivator, Grandma's going to be pretty odd in the grandkids opinions anyway. :)
And, possibly the biggest motivator, how much it'll cost, vs. a number of much better things I'd rather do with that money. Like freeing a couple of girls from slavery.
So, in conclusion - I'd go for it, if I knew my husband would think it was cool, and I couldn't give the money to anything else. But since I know of better places for the finances, and I don't yet know my husband's view, I think this one's out.
It does look really cool, though.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Amanda Needs
So, another random Internet thing is to take your first name and enter it into Google with the word "needs," and offer up the first ten, twelve, or twenty results.
1. Amanda needs you to Map yourself. (Yep. I'm a lazy stalker. Coordinates. Go.)
2. Amanda needs wisdom and strength to do what is right. (Always.)
3. Amanda needs to pee. (Not at the moment...)
4. Amanda needs prayers and the Lord Jesus Christ's guidance. (Yep.)
5. Amanda needs to know the truth about Kyle. (Gasp! Wait...which Kyle?)
6. Amanda needs help. (Yep. Kinda buried right now.)
7. Amanda needs more ink. (Ironic, considering the tattoo-related discussions we've been having lately).
8. Amanda needs to read Barbara Bush's speech to Wellesley Graduates (this is news to me).
9. Amanda needs to get help busting skulls, not new friends. (Possibly because I'm not much of a
skull-buster to begin with, and before I can make new friends, I need the current ones to teach me this.)
10. Amanda needs a car. (Apparently one is not enough.)
11. Amanda needs a TARDIS. (in case the car doesn't work out, I guess.)
12. Amanda needs to go crazy. (I'm working on it! :P )
1. Amanda needs you to Map yourself. (Yep. I'm a lazy stalker. Coordinates. Go.)
2. Amanda needs wisdom and strength to do what is right. (Always.)
3. Amanda needs to pee. (Not at the moment...)
4. Amanda needs prayers and the Lord Jesus Christ's guidance. (Yep.)
5. Amanda needs to know the truth about Kyle. (Gasp! Wait...which Kyle?)
6. Amanda needs help. (Yep. Kinda buried right now.)
7. Amanda needs more ink. (Ironic, considering the tattoo-related discussions we've been having lately).
8. Amanda needs to read Barbara Bush's speech to Wellesley Graduates (this is news to me).
9. Amanda needs to get help busting skulls, not new friends. (Possibly because I'm not much of a
skull-buster to begin with, and before I can make new friends, I need the current ones to teach me this.)
10. Amanda needs a car. (Apparently one is not enough.)
11. Amanda needs a TARDIS. (in case the car doesn't work out, I guess.)
12. Amanda needs to go crazy. (I'm working on it! :P )
Help With the Chores
Yesterday, I decorated the Christmas tree!
During the time it took me to do that, my Dad decided to
1) Clear the ice off my car (a common occurrance, when you live in MN and park outside every night).
2) Check and change my oil.
3) And refill my tires.
I would also state that it was thirty degrees in our garage, which makes working on the cars much less enjoyable.
If that doesn't seem like a big deal, these are all chores that I normally do myself (well, I wuss out on changing oil and just take it to Firestone - I CAN do it, but I've never done it solo), but I haven't had time to take care of with school and other chores (like decorating the Christmas tree!). And the big point on this was that I hadn't said anything about it to him - he just asked when I'd done it last, and went and took care of it.
My Dad loves me!
During the time it took me to do that, my Dad decided to
1) Clear the ice off my car (a common occurrance, when you live in MN and park outside every night).
2) Check and change my oil.
3) And refill my tires.
I would also state that it was thirty degrees in our garage, which makes working on the cars much less enjoyable.
If that doesn't seem like a big deal, these are all chores that I normally do myself (well, I wuss out on changing oil and just take it to Firestone - I CAN do it, but I've never done it solo), but I haven't had time to take care of with school and other chores (like decorating the Christmas tree!). And the big point on this was that I hadn't said anything about it to him - he just asked when I'd done it last, and went and took care of it.
My Dad loves me!
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Letter to Tech Support
Dear Sirs:
Last year I upgraded from Community Theatre 5.0 to Small Professional Theatre 1.0 and noticed that the new program began making unexpected changes.
It installed something called Microsoft Stage Manager™ which it launches whenever rehearsal software is powered up, severely limiting access to munchies, praise, and practical joke applications that operated flawlessly under Community Theatre 5.0. No mention of this phenomenon was included in the product brochure.
In addition, Stage Manager 1.0 uninstalls many other valuable programs such as Hamming 2.0, Smoking in Costume 7.5, Coming and Going at Will 5.6, Unlimited Comps 8.3 and Borrowing Theatre's Equipment 2.3 and installs new, undesirable programs such as Schedule 3.1, Discipline 1.3, Expectations 5.0, and Accountability 2.4.
Divafit 4.1 no longer runs at all, and invariably crashes the system. Under no circumstances will it run Whining 14.1. I've tried running Attitude 5.3 to fix Stage Manager 1.0, but this all-purpose utility is of limited effectiveness.
Can you help please?!!!!
Jane
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Jane:
This is a very common problem many actors complain about, but is mostly due to a primary misconception. Many people upgrade from Community Theatre 5.0 to Small Professional Theatre 1.0 with no idea that Community Theatre 5.0 is merely an ENTERTAINMENT package for actors.
However, Small Professional Theatre 1.0 is a performance OPERATING SYSTEM and was designed by its creator to run as few applications as possible, eliminating unnecessary routines and delegating as many tasks as it can to the end-user in order to conserve all system resources for its own use.
It is impossible to uninstall, delete, or purge the Stage Manager files from the system, once installed, as Stage Manager 1.0 rewrites your other software so that it rejects Community Theatre 5.0 routines once exposed to SM's superior methods.
Having Stage Manager 1.0 installed myself, I would suggest you read the entire section of the Owner's Manual regarding General Director Faults (GDFs). This is a wonderful feature of Stage Manager 1.0, secretly installed by the parent company as an integral part of the operating system. Stage Manager 1.0 will take on ALL responsibility for ALL faults and problems, regardless of root cause, and will somehow solve EVERYTHING. To activate this great feature enter the command C:\DIRECTOR\SCATTERED_DREAMER-SENSITIVE_ARTIST\CAN'T_FUNCTION_WITHOUT_YOU. Sometimes Actors-R-Idiots 6.0 or higher must be run simultaneously while entering the command. Stage Manager 1.0 should then run the applications Organize 12.3 and Miracles 7.8.
TECH TIP! Avoid excessive use of this feature. Overuse can create additional and more serious GDFs, and ultimately you may have to give a C:\APOLOGIZE\RAISE\PERSONAL_DAY command before the system will return to normal operations.
Overuse can also cause Stage Manager 1.0 to default to GrumpySilence 2.5, or worse yet, ArtSearch 6.0.
GrumpySilence 2.5 is a very bad program that can create Dysfunctional.Acting files that clog all rehearsal and performance programs and are very hard to delete. Save yourself some trouble by following this tech tip! Just remember, the system will run smoothly and take the blame for all GDFs, but because of this fine feature it can only intermittently run all the entertainment applications Community Theatre 5.0 ran.
After several years of use, Stage Manager 1.0 will become familiar and you will find many valuable embedded features such as FixesBrokenThings 2.1 and Ensemble Loyalty 4.2.
A final word of caution! Do NOT, under any circumstances, install any version of MeddlesomeAdministrator. This is not a supported application, and will cause selective shut down of the operating system. StageManager 1.0 will run only CurtGoingThruTheMotions and CovertArtSearch until MeddlesomeAdministrator is uninstalled.
I hope these notes have helped. Thank you for choosing to install Small Professional Theatre 1.0 and we here at Tech Support wish you the best of luck in coming years.
Tech Support
-----
Ran across this, looking for something to share with my theater-major sister. :)
Last year I upgraded from Community Theatre 5.0 to Small Professional Theatre 1.0 and noticed that the new program began making unexpected changes.
It installed something called Microsoft Stage Manager™ which it launches whenever rehearsal software is powered up, severely limiting access to munchies, praise, and practical joke applications that operated flawlessly under Community Theatre 5.0. No mention of this phenomenon was included in the product brochure.
In addition, Stage Manager 1.0 uninstalls many other valuable programs such as Hamming 2.0, Smoking in Costume 7.5, Coming and Going at Will 5.6, Unlimited Comps 8.3 and Borrowing Theatre's Equipment 2.3 and installs new, undesirable programs such as Schedule 3.1, Discipline 1.3, Expectations 5.0, and Accountability 2.4.
Divafit 4.1 no longer runs at all, and invariably crashes the system. Under no circumstances will it run Whining 14.1. I've tried running Attitude 5.3 to fix Stage Manager 1.0, but this all-purpose utility is of limited effectiveness.
Can you help please?!!!!
Jane
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Jane:
This is a very common problem many actors complain about, but is mostly due to a primary misconception. Many people upgrade from Community Theatre 5.0 to Small Professional Theatre 1.0 with no idea that Community Theatre 5.0 is merely an ENTERTAINMENT package for actors.
However, Small Professional Theatre 1.0 is a performance OPERATING SYSTEM and was designed by its creator to run as few applications as possible, eliminating unnecessary routines and delegating as many tasks as it can to the end-user in order to conserve all system resources for its own use.
It is impossible to uninstall, delete, or purge the Stage Manager files from the system, once installed, as Stage Manager 1.0 rewrites your other software so that it rejects Community Theatre 5.0 routines once exposed to SM's superior methods.
Having Stage Manager 1.0 installed myself, I would suggest you read the entire section of the Owner's Manual regarding General Director Faults (GDFs). This is a wonderful feature of Stage Manager 1.0, secretly installed by the parent company as an integral part of the operating system. Stage Manager 1.0 will take on ALL responsibility for ALL faults and problems, regardless of root cause, and will somehow solve EVERYTHING. To activate this great feature enter the command C:\DIRECTOR\SCATTERED_DREAMER-SENSITIVE_ARTIST\CAN'T_FUNCTION_WITHOUT_YOU. Sometimes Actors-R-Idiots 6.0 or higher must be run simultaneously while entering the command. Stage Manager 1.0 should then run the applications Organize 12.3 and Miracles 7.8.
TECH TIP! Avoid excessive use of this feature. Overuse can create additional and more serious GDFs, and ultimately you may have to give a C:\APOLOGIZE\RAISE\PERSONAL_DAY command before the system will return to normal operations.
Overuse can also cause Stage Manager 1.0 to default to GrumpySilence 2.5, or worse yet, ArtSearch 6.0.
GrumpySilence 2.5 is a very bad program that can create Dysfunctional.Acting files that clog all rehearsal and performance programs and are very hard to delete. Save yourself some trouble by following this tech tip! Just remember, the system will run smoothly and take the blame for all GDFs, but because of this fine feature it can only intermittently run all the entertainment applications Community Theatre 5.0 ran.
After several years of use, Stage Manager 1.0 will become familiar and you will find many valuable embedded features such as FixesBrokenThings 2.1 and Ensemble Loyalty 4.2.
A final word of caution! Do NOT, under any circumstances, install any version of MeddlesomeAdministrator. This is not a supported application, and will cause selective shut down of the operating system. StageManager 1.0 will run only CurtGoingThruTheMotions and CovertArtSearch until MeddlesomeAdministrator is uninstalled.
I hope these notes have helped. Thank you for choosing to install Small Professional Theatre 1.0 and we here at Tech Support wish you the best of luck in coming years.
Tech Support
-----
Ran across this, looking for something to share with my theater-major sister. :)
You're Invited!
Chatting with one Mr. Bille after one of the concerts. Just the general catchup that happens after you haven't seen each other or hung out for about a year. Parts of this year had been very exciting for each of us - I'd had some adventures in varying degrees of danger, and he'd graduated. But, after a laughter-filled retelling
"I'm sad! I didn't know about any of this, and no one really knows we're friends, and I don't know if I'd get an invitation to your funeral!"
I think I gracefully refrained from spitting out my Sprite, but it was close. Laughter ensued once more. "Usually, most people don't get invitations to funerals, just the closest family and friends. Everyone else, you hear about it, and you just go."
"But, I wouldn't know about it!"
So, by the end of that exchange, Ryan had exacted a promise that, when it's time, he will get an invitation to my funeral. Everyone else gets an announcement.
"I'm sad! I didn't know about any of this, and no one really knows we're friends, and I don't know if I'd get an invitation to your funeral!"
I think I gracefully refrained from spitting out my Sprite, but it was close. Laughter ensued once more. "Usually, most people don't get invitations to funerals, just the closest family and friends. Everyone else, you hear about it, and you just go."
"But, I wouldn't know about it!"
So, by the end of that exchange, Ryan had exacted a promise that, when it's time, he will get an invitation to my funeral. Everyone else gets an announcement.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
John Denver Does Blizzards
All my bags are packed; I'm ready to go
I'm stuck in Byron, buried in snow
I wish that we could go and play outside
'Cause there's no jake-braking this early morn,
No traffic out there, no blowing horns
If only I could find some way to drive
So, kiss me in a major freeze
Dig me out, let's make memories
It's cold here, so outside we will go
'Cause it's sleeting on the Great Plains
Don't know when sun will shine again
Oh, babe,
I love the snow
Still for all this time, it's coming down
So little time to cover town
I tell you I'm so happy I could sing
Every hill we find, we'll slide right through
No one I'd rather play with than you
Though we might end up in the IC-wing
So, kiss me in a major freeze
Let's go make new memories
It's cold here, and so outside we will go
'Cause it's sleeting on the Great Plains!
Don't know when sun will shine again
Oh, babe,
I love the snow!
This was not entirely my idea. The first two lines came from somebody else in this household. I just ran with it. :)
I think there've been some ten inches fallen at this point, and we're still expecting more. I spent a decent chunk of this morning shoveling, and of course, there is still more to do. :) But I'm looking forward to playing in it!
I'm stuck in Byron, buried in snow
I wish that we could go and play outside
'Cause there's no jake-braking this early morn,
No traffic out there, no blowing horns
If only I could find some way to drive
So, kiss me in a major freeze
Dig me out, let's make memories
It's cold here, so outside we will go
'Cause it's sleeting on the Great Plains
Don't know when sun will shine again
Oh, babe,
I love the snow
Still for all this time, it's coming down
So little time to cover town
I tell you I'm so happy I could sing
Every hill we find, we'll slide right through
No one I'd rather play with than you
Though we might end up in the IC-wing
So, kiss me in a major freeze
Let's go make new memories
It's cold here, and so outside we will go
'Cause it's sleeting on the Great Plains!
Don't know when sun will shine again
Oh, babe,
I love the snow!
This was not entirely my idea. The first two lines came from somebody else in this household. I just ran with it. :)
I think there've been some ten inches fallen at this point, and we're still expecting more. I spent a decent chunk of this morning shoveling, and of course, there is still more to do. :) But I'm looking forward to playing in it!
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Cool Off-Season Things About Working At Camp
First off, there are fall retreats, where you can help out and be at Camp, soaking up a different side of Camp life while still eating awesome food, hanging out with awesome friends, and having someplace to sleep - and yet not have the intense responsibility of being a counselor. While I love being a counselor, it's not something I'd care to mix in with all the other chaos of things I'm responsible for during the school year.
Also, if you are a ropes course instructor, you get to help out with groups that are learning cool team-building stuff. Most of these are from Rochester. You meet some pretty cool people. A very unexpected and unpredictable method of networking, but you're also watching adults go through the same challenges that you've had campers go through all summer, and you learn new ways of loooking at problems.
(I am unfortunately something of a snob here. I consider the ropes course to be the most worthwhile "activity" at Camp, because I don't have any decent application for mountain-boarding or paintballing outside of the sports themselves, but they're REALLY about trust/ team-building/ leadership/ problem-solving stuff on the low ropes.)
The support. People pray for you and interact with you (we completely abuse Facebook for this) through the whole year. You've got awesome friends, and they don't just stay at Camp. Shortly before Finals week, you get a package from Spud and his wife (former camper/counselor, they've been involved with Camp since the 50s, I think.) of brain-helping goodies (or, y'know, fudge and trail mix and various other chocolatey things). I just got mine the other day. Every staff member has someone on the board of directors praying for and kind of looking out for them - this is separate from the head counselors and leadership team, who are there for you all summer.
Knowing what you're going to do next summer. I originally started, planning to only work one summer, I think. For three years, I've been saying, "This is going to be my last summer," because it really takes a lot out of you. But then, over the next five months or so, you realize how much it gives back, too. Thanks to moving plans, I know that this is going to be my last summer for awhile, and by the time I'm back in MN I might be too old to be a cabin counselor, but I've given up predicting when I'm going to be done.
Getting to be in a Rocket Summer video. Okay, that's unrelated. But Leaf, who's an awesome counselor, is indeed in their latest video, rockin' out on the drums (which he plays at Camp) from about 2:16 to 2:20.
Suddenly having your family be five times larger.
These guys were the first ones (outside of the four I live with) to learn that I was going to be moving. I should say that the girls were, and it trickled through to the guys, and then it came out in a staff meeting one morning, so everyone knew. But it made sense, because everyone does sort of become family. Rockstar's like my little brother (which explains why I was freaked so badly when he fell off the deck this summer). Three of the girls are as close as my own sisters are to me. Even a couple of the guys whose counseling methods I disagree with - yeah, they drive me crazy, but in an obnoxious cousin kind of way. I still love them. And cooler than that, they love me. They know me on a level that nobody from school ever will, and possibly my immediate family hasn't even seen, they know all the ways I come up short, and there's no doubt that they love me.
They're family.
And, coming up, one rocking Staff Reunion (usually the first weekend in January - it's going to be sweet, and likely at least three people will get injured between broomball, snow tubing, and other randomness), and not one, but this year, two camper retreats (we actually get to be counselors again for these). One of them's even before I move, so I'm doing that instead of any kind of farewell party.
Also, come spring, pre-camp work. I can't explain why I get excited about this - nobody can. It's hard, and usually filthy, and tough, and you don't get any outside recognition for it (though the gratitude of the permanent staff is evident), but I love going out and doing it. It's the stuff like clearing trails, and repairing fences, making sure that things are livable and in order - all the invisible stuff that people assume just happens, and usually nobody in the summer will know that you did it, but it feels so good to be able to do it. Take a friend or two, take a random Saturday that you have free, and do it as many times as you can before May.
And then, in May, there's official pre-camp work, which I might (hopefully) end up doing again when I move back. That's where there's four to eight of you, you're living on camp property, which gets you kind of getting used to the community there again, and working regular 8 or 10 hour days, but it's outside work, in the sun and the trees and the mud (working in mud is frustrating yet oddly satisfying), or building new stuff, and you're getting paid about what you do for counseling. And it's great! You get SO much done, and you can really take pride in it because you can see how what you're doing is worthwhile, and then in just a few weeks all the rest of staff are there for training!
Actually, all of this was just because I got my Finals Week package (it takes a lot of work to send out forty of these!), and I saw the new Rocket Summer video. :) But now I'm excited for Camp again!
...not that that ever takes much.
Also, if you are a ropes course instructor, you get to help out with groups that are learning cool team-building stuff. Most of these are from Rochester. You meet some pretty cool people. A very unexpected and unpredictable method of networking, but you're also watching adults go through the same challenges that you've had campers go through all summer, and you learn new ways of loooking at problems.
(I am unfortunately something of a snob here. I consider the ropes course to be the most worthwhile "activity" at Camp, because I don't have any decent application for mountain-boarding or paintballing outside of the sports themselves, but they're REALLY about trust/ team-building/ leadership/ problem-solving stuff on the low ropes.)
The support. People pray for you and interact with you (we completely abuse Facebook for this) through the whole year. You've got awesome friends, and they don't just stay at Camp. Shortly before Finals week, you get a package from Spud and his wife (former camper/counselor, they've been involved with Camp since the 50s, I think.) of brain-helping goodies (or, y'know, fudge and trail mix and various other chocolatey things). I just got mine the other day. Every staff member has someone on the board of directors praying for and kind of looking out for them - this is separate from the head counselors and leadership team, who are there for you all summer.
Knowing what you're going to do next summer. I originally started, planning to only work one summer, I think. For three years, I've been saying, "This is going to be my last summer," because it really takes a lot out of you. But then, over the next five months or so, you realize how much it gives back, too. Thanks to moving plans, I know that this is going to be my last summer for awhile, and by the time I'm back in MN I might be too old to be a cabin counselor, but I've given up predicting when I'm going to be done.
Getting to be in a Rocket Summer video. Okay, that's unrelated. But Leaf, who's an awesome counselor, is indeed in their latest video, rockin' out on the drums (which he plays at Camp) from about 2:16 to 2:20.
Suddenly having your family be five times larger.
These guys were the first ones (outside of the four I live with) to learn that I was going to be moving. I should say that the girls were, and it trickled through to the guys, and then it came out in a staff meeting one morning, so everyone knew. But it made sense, because everyone does sort of become family. Rockstar's like my little brother (which explains why I was freaked so badly when he fell off the deck this summer). Three of the girls are as close as my own sisters are to me. Even a couple of the guys whose counseling methods I disagree with - yeah, they drive me crazy, but in an obnoxious cousin kind of way. I still love them. And cooler than that, they love me. They know me on a level that nobody from school ever will, and possibly my immediate family hasn't even seen, they know all the ways I come up short, and there's no doubt that they love me.
They're family.
And, coming up, one rocking Staff Reunion (usually the first weekend in January - it's going to be sweet, and likely at least three people will get injured between broomball, snow tubing, and other randomness), and not one, but this year, two camper retreats (we actually get to be counselors again for these). One of them's even before I move, so I'm doing that instead of any kind of farewell party.
Also, come spring, pre-camp work. I can't explain why I get excited about this - nobody can. It's hard, and usually filthy, and tough, and you don't get any outside recognition for it (though the gratitude of the permanent staff is evident), but I love going out and doing it. It's the stuff like clearing trails, and repairing fences, making sure that things are livable and in order - all the invisible stuff that people assume just happens, and usually nobody in the summer will know that you did it, but it feels so good to be able to do it. Take a friend or two, take a random Saturday that you have free, and do it as many times as you can before May.
And then, in May, there's official pre-camp work, which I might (hopefully) end up doing again when I move back. That's where there's four to eight of you, you're living on camp property, which gets you kind of getting used to the community there again, and working regular 8 or 10 hour days, but it's outside work, in the sun and the trees and the mud (working in mud is frustrating yet oddly satisfying), or building new stuff, and you're getting paid about what you do for counseling. And it's great! You get SO much done, and you can really take pride in it because you can see how what you're doing is worthwhile, and then in just a few weeks all the rest of staff are there for training!
Actually, all of this was just because I got my Finals Week package (it takes a lot of work to send out forty of these!), and I saw the new Rocket Summer video. :) But now I'm excited for Camp again!
...not that that ever takes much.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Productions
Saturday night, Denise came down from Duluth, and the two of us went to RTC's production of The Wizard of Oz.
Elizabeth has loved the Wicked Witch of the West since we were kids, and was overjoyed to land the role. Opening night, she was actually in terrible pain and ended up going to the hospital and skipping the afterparty, but she still went through with it. I described her to Ross as an alloy of steel, iron, and determination. When Elizabeth decides that she's going to do something, she is GOING to do it, no matter what tries to stop her.
And, as usual, she is absolutely smashing onstage. A splendid Wicked Witch indeed.
Early on in the days of rehearsals, we were discussing the possibilities of adding some slight alterations to the characters. Since this was a performance celebrating the anniversary, this seemed unlikely - we figured that the director would rather recreate than put new spins on it. But, we started speculating about accents.
"Zeh Vicked Vitch of Zeh Vest!"
"Vehrrrrrrrr uff to zee zeh vizzard! Zeh vunderful vizzard ov Oz! 'e really iz a viz of a viz, if ever a viz zehr vahz!"
You get the idea.
"If ever o' ever a viz zehr vahz, zeh vizzard is vahn becahz becahz..."
The rest of the household may have gotten tired of us at this point.
"Becahz becahz becahz becahz beCAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHZ!" *beat. beat.* "BECAHZ OF ZEH VUNDERFUL SZINGS 'E DOES!"
During intermission, Denise taught me the basic step for the tango. Not that this has anything to do with the show, or even being at a show - this is just another standard part of being in my family. :) We went across the way to practice a couple of swing steps, to the entertainment of a mom and her two kids.
Sunday morning was Mom's show. There's really no word for this other than "Christmas Production." It goes beyond a concert. It gets bigger every year. She was referring to it online as something like "My Big Fat Greek Christmas Lollapalooza." I didn't detect any Greek references in it (y'know, aside from that business of having substantial portions of the New Testament being originally written in Greek), but it was pretty cool.
A friend once expressed cheerful annoyance with me for bringing him to one of these, because that one was more interactive and he'd said I'd tricked him into going to church. This one, not so much - but a LOT of talent onstage.
One that stuck out was their rendition of "Joseph's Song" - the original is by Michael Card, and I hadn't heard it in probably ten years. For several of the characters, they introduced more of a storyline, and got them comforting actors in the audience who were struggling with their own life situations. In their story, Joseph and Mary had grown up together, and had always planned on getting married, and not only did he feel completely betrayed by the person he thought was his best friend, but suddenly everything he'd planned for his life was called into question. Then, later, he's confronted by the huge responsibility of being a father, and he can't even think about how much bigger a responsibility it is to be a father to God.
Mary, in turn, was comforting a mother who'd lost her firstborn to SIDS.
The thief who died next to Jesus talked with a man who couldn't forgive his father, or accept his father's forgiveness.
Every year, there's one person in the Christmas story that I grab onto, mentally, and end up seeing a lot of the Christmas story through their eyes. Last year, it was the kings from the east. Just delved into it, seriously exploring who they were, what the stars meant to them, why they came if they weren't familiar with Jewish prophecy (or if they were, did they believe it, and how did they get their hands on it), you get the idea. Before that, it was Jesus' cousin, John the Baptist. This year, I guess it's going to be Joseph. I don't really pick this, I just end up hearing the story, and one piece grabs me in a different way. The different people each got about equal time in the show, but Joseph's story maybe relates a little more to things that I'm dealing with, or need to understand.
And, to cap off the production list, Denise is Stage Managing (borderline unheard-of for a freshman, apparently) at UMD that opens in January, and I have the concert this week!
Elizabeth has loved the Wicked Witch of the West since we were kids, and was overjoyed to land the role. Opening night, she was actually in terrible pain and ended up going to the hospital and skipping the afterparty, but she still went through with it. I described her to Ross as an alloy of steel, iron, and determination. When Elizabeth decides that she's going to do something, she is GOING to do it, no matter what tries to stop her.
And, as usual, she is absolutely smashing onstage. A splendid Wicked Witch indeed.
Early on in the days of rehearsals, we were discussing the possibilities of adding some slight alterations to the characters. Since this was a performance celebrating the anniversary, this seemed unlikely - we figured that the director would rather recreate than put new spins on it. But, we started speculating about accents.
"Zeh Vicked Vitch of Zeh Vest!"
"Vehrrrrrrrr uff to zee zeh vizzard! Zeh vunderful vizzard ov Oz! 'e really iz a viz of a viz, if ever a viz zehr vahz!"
You get the idea.
"If ever o' ever a viz zehr vahz, zeh vizzard is vahn becahz becahz..."
The rest of the household may have gotten tired of us at this point.
"Becahz becahz becahz becahz beCAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHZ!" *beat. beat.* "BECAHZ OF ZEH VUNDERFUL SZINGS 'E DOES!"
During intermission, Denise taught me the basic step for the tango. Not that this has anything to do with the show, or even being at a show - this is just another standard part of being in my family. :) We went across the way to practice a couple of swing steps, to the entertainment of a mom and her two kids.
Sunday morning was Mom's show. There's really no word for this other than "Christmas Production." It goes beyond a concert. It gets bigger every year. She was referring to it online as something like "My Big Fat Greek Christmas Lollapalooza." I didn't detect any Greek references in it (y'know, aside from that business of having substantial portions of the New Testament being originally written in Greek), but it was pretty cool.
A friend once expressed cheerful annoyance with me for bringing him to one of these, because that one was more interactive and he'd said I'd tricked him into going to church. This one, not so much - but a LOT of talent onstage.
One that stuck out was their rendition of "Joseph's Song" - the original is by Michael Card, and I hadn't heard it in probably ten years. For several of the characters, they introduced more of a storyline, and got them comforting actors in the audience who were struggling with their own life situations. In their story, Joseph and Mary had grown up together, and had always planned on getting married, and not only did he feel completely betrayed by the person he thought was his best friend, but suddenly everything he'd planned for his life was called into question. Then, later, he's confronted by the huge responsibility of being a father, and he can't even think about how much bigger a responsibility it is to be a father to God.
Mary, in turn, was comforting a mother who'd lost her firstborn to SIDS.
The thief who died next to Jesus talked with a man who couldn't forgive his father, or accept his father's forgiveness.
Every year, there's one person in the Christmas story that I grab onto, mentally, and end up seeing a lot of the Christmas story through their eyes. Last year, it was the kings from the east. Just delved into it, seriously exploring who they were, what the stars meant to them, why they came if they weren't familiar with Jewish prophecy (or if they were, did they believe it, and how did they get their hands on it), you get the idea. Before that, it was Jesus' cousin, John the Baptist. This year, I guess it's going to be Joseph. I don't really pick this, I just end up hearing the story, and one piece grabs me in a different way. The different people each got about equal time in the show, but Joseph's story maybe relates a little more to things that I'm dealing with, or need to understand.
And, to cap off the production list, Denise is Stage Managing (borderline unheard-of for a freshman, apparently) at UMD that opens in January, and I have the concert this week!
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Christmas Music Surprise
So, this semester, I looked over my schedule, and regretfully said, "I won't have time for more than one music ensemble. I'll go with Jazz Band."
The logic here was that I actually learn something in Jazz Band. Not from Chuck - Chuck doesn't really teach music, he just encourages it and gets all of us to play together well. I learn quite a bit about Jazz from Dan, though. Dan is the rockin' first alto who sometimes carries the entire sax section, if not the band itself. Dan has lots of music experience. Dan graduated at least five years ago, and Chuck might not even let Dan leave Jazz Band if he dies.
Of course, then it became apparent that, sometime between the last concert and this fall, the second alto part had gone missing. Hmmm. This is not good. There are about 80 charts in said folder. A substantial percentage of them are now out-of-print, so we can't even order replacements.
Astonishingly, it soon became blindingly obvious that there is absolutely no need for three first alto saxes when there is no second part. Admittedly, in a band that has four percussionists and five guys on guitar, "surplus" does seem to be the name of the game, but this is taking things just a hair too far. We really only need one first alto, but sense can be seen in supposedly training in someone under Dan. This is of course suggesting that we will someday not have Dan and will need a replacement, which is plainly untrue, but we sort of gloss over that notion.
(I would understand having four percussionists in Concert Band. In Jazz, you have the set, and maybe somebody else on traps. You shouldn't need anyone else. Actually, we need decent percussionists in Concert Band, because there are three new guys back there who could use some direction, and possibly confidence to go with it.)
So, after it also became obvious that the only tenor available in my house (we have two, but one of them is simply not shared. It's pretty much a question of honor - it'd be like asking your Dad if you could borrow his Jaguar to go deer hunting. "I'm sorry, what?!" Like that.) was a beast that I would need four months to tame (it's a mite stubborn), I had a chat with Chuck and said I'd be back whenever he got the second part replaced. Because, really, they don't need three first altos.
I am perfectly aware that Chuck will be getting nothing done about this until at least summer, at the earliest. Possibly summer of 2015. It's Chuck.
So then what happens? Well, somehow, they need another second alto for the Concert Band. I would ordinarily disagree with this, but I've played with them - he's right. So, somehow, I get to be part of the Christmas Concert. Okay, this'll be fun, the Christmas concert always is. I know I'm going to miss being in Jazz Band, and especially Aires, but Christmas is great!
Interestingly, Chuck knew that one of the four nights that he wanted me for would be the night that I was already committed elsewhere. By curious coincidence, this is the exact night that first sold out. Astonishing.
On Wednesday - Wednesday - the week before the concert, two of the girls from choir grabbed me and said, "We need another alto." Right. Uh huh. I've not been in choir for the entire semester. I will be making two daily rehearsals before this concert. And I'm sight-reading all this. Faaaaantastic.
And then I sang with them. And, yes, they either need to get another alto, or clear out a third of each of the other sections. So, very well, I commit to this one as well (with the exception of sold-out night).
Well, this actually isn't so bad. More than half of the choir music is repeated every year, and by another fascinating coincidence, one of the more rhythmically challenging pieces is one that my other show choir did last year. General Delivery drilled music in a way that the Aires never do. I'll have this one solid until I'm thirty, at least. So, okay, there are two pieces that I'm a little unsure about, but I should be able to make them work.
And then what happens? Today, Chuck mentions something about the second part, and the agreement I'd made - and it was pointed out that if he gets it together in time for the concert, even if I haven't been in rehearsal, he gets me back in Jazz Band for the Christmas Concert.
At this point, I just have to laugh. Yes, I'd do it, and I have a blast playing with the Jazz Band, and since a lot of the Christmas music for Jazz is big on enthusiasm and small on challenge, we'd be okay - but, man. I thought I was getting out of music this semester!
The logic here was that I actually learn something in Jazz Band. Not from Chuck - Chuck doesn't really teach music, he just encourages it and gets all of us to play together well. I learn quite a bit about Jazz from Dan, though. Dan is the rockin' first alto who sometimes carries the entire sax section, if not the band itself. Dan has lots of music experience. Dan graduated at least five years ago, and Chuck might not even let Dan leave Jazz Band if he dies.
Of course, then it became apparent that, sometime between the last concert and this fall, the second alto part had gone missing. Hmmm. This is not good. There are about 80 charts in said folder. A substantial percentage of them are now out-of-print, so we can't even order replacements.
Astonishingly, it soon became blindingly obvious that there is absolutely no need for three first alto saxes when there is no second part. Admittedly, in a band that has four percussionists and five guys on guitar, "surplus" does seem to be the name of the game, but this is taking things just a hair too far. We really only need one first alto, but sense can be seen in supposedly training in someone under Dan. This is of course suggesting that we will someday not have Dan and will need a replacement, which is plainly untrue, but we sort of gloss over that notion.
(I would understand having four percussionists in Concert Band. In Jazz, you have the set, and maybe somebody else on traps. You shouldn't need anyone else. Actually, we need decent percussionists in Concert Band, because there are three new guys back there who could use some direction, and possibly confidence to go with it.)
So, after it also became obvious that the only tenor available in my house (we have two, but one of them is simply not shared. It's pretty much a question of honor - it'd be like asking your Dad if you could borrow his Jaguar to go deer hunting. "I'm sorry, what?!" Like that.) was a beast that I would need four months to tame (it's a mite stubborn), I had a chat with Chuck and said I'd be back whenever he got the second part replaced. Because, really, they don't need three first altos.
I am perfectly aware that Chuck will be getting nothing done about this until at least summer, at the earliest. Possibly summer of 2015. It's Chuck.
So then what happens? Well, somehow, they need another second alto for the Concert Band. I would ordinarily disagree with this, but I've played with them - he's right. So, somehow, I get to be part of the Christmas Concert. Okay, this'll be fun, the Christmas concert always is. I know I'm going to miss being in Jazz Band, and especially Aires, but Christmas is great!
Interestingly, Chuck knew that one of the four nights that he wanted me for would be the night that I was already committed elsewhere. By curious coincidence, this is the exact night that first sold out. Astonishing.
On Wednesday - Wednesday - the week before the concert, two of the girls from choir grabbed me and said, "We need another alto." Right. Uh huh. I've not been in choir for the entire semester. I will be making two daily rehearsals before this concert. And I'm sight-reading all this. Faaaaantastic.
And then I sang with them. And, yes, they either need to get another alto, or clear out a third of each of the other sections. So, very well, I commit to this one as well (with the exception of sold-out night).
Well, this actually isn't so bad. More than half of the choir music is repeated every year, and by another fascinating coincidence, one of the more rhythmically challenging pieces is one that my other show choir did last year. General Delivery drilled music in a way that the Aires never do. I'll have this one solid until I'm thirty, at least. So, okay, there are two pieces that I'm a little unsure about, but I should be able to make them work.
And then what happens? Today, Chuck mentions something about the second part, and the agreement I'd made - and it was pointed out that if he gets it together in time for the concert, even if I haven't been in rehearsal, he gets me back in Jazz Band for the Christmas Concert.
At this point, I just have to laugh. Yes, I'd do it, and I have a blast playing with the Jazz Band, and since a lot of the Christmas music for Jazz is big on enthusiasm and small on challenge, we'd be okay - but, man. I thought I was getting out of music this semester!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
"Christianity is a faith that was meant to be spread - but not through coercion. God's love was intended to be demonstrated, not dictated. Our job is not to manipulate or induce others to agree with us or to leave their religion and embrace Christianity. Our charge is to both proclaim and embody the gospel so that others can see, hear, and feel God's love in tangible ways."
-Richard Stearns
On a more serious note than usual, events over the last year have got me really thinking about what I mean when I say I'm a Christian, what people think when they hear it, and what I want to live for. Where do I want to be in a decade, where do I think I'll be in a decade, and if me being a Christian hasn't helped ANYBODY'S life in that time, then why on earth am I one?
Not that I think that this is the case. I just think that there's a lot more I can do.
Typical early twenties "where is my life going," stuff, I know. But when you're IN your early twenties, it seems like a big deal.
-Richard Stearns
On a more serious note than usual, events over the last year have got me really thinking about what I mean when I say I'm a Christian, what people think when they hear it, and what I want to live for. Where do I want to be in a decade, where do I think I'll be in a decade, and if me being a Christian hasn't helped ANYBODY'S life in that time, then why on earth am I one?
Not that I think that this is the case. I just think that there's a lot more I can do.
Typical early twenties "where is my life going," stuff, I know. But when you're IN your early twenties, it seems like a big deal.
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