Armadillos and the Man

About the bad day . . . I suppose I owe y'all some explanation for that post. It's a longish story, but I'll try keep it short and move on to other topics.

The Tale begins with a bad week (Sept. 4-8). When I say bad, I mean that on Wednesday I wrecked one of my mom's cars, and on Friday, as I was driving along at 70 mph, *my* car's steering wheel decided to stop functioning. This second mishap cost me $355 which I really didn't have. (For those wondering: the wreck involved Backing Up and a Tree; 70 mph was the speed limit; and both cars are now fine.)

As if all this wasn't enough, I was rather stressed about school. Or, more specifically, about practicing. You see, I was assigned 3 voice students to accompany on piano, at a rate of $15/week/student. This was a good thing, in that I needed money and enjoy accompanying. Unfortunately, the accompaniments were more difficult than I expected, and were taking *tons* of my practice time--with the result that I wasn't practicing organ nearly enough. Plus it's difficult to find an organ to practice on when I *do* have time--The Organ of Glorious Renown is in a concert hall which is used for a zillion other things, so it's hard to get in there to practice, and the college's practice organ is Evil. Seriously. (Ask anyone you like: it's a widely-known fact.)

So, this was not a happy week. But I kept telling myself things would improve once it was over, and I talked to Mr. G about my practicing difficulties, and came up with a plan in which I could get all my practicing done. Then, on Monday the 11th, I drove to school (without mishap!), had a reasonably good organ lesson, and went to the library to check email. Whereupon I discovered an email from one of the voice professors saying that my piano skills were in such disrepair that I couldn't continue accompanying her students.

I was pretty much devastated--because (a) I was exhausted and depressed from the previous week, (b) my perfectionist self hates failing at anything for any reason, (c) I had been killing myself over those blasted accompaniments for nothing, and (d) this meant I was losing 2/3 of my budget, and could mean I would have serious trouble paying for gas every week (not to mention paying insurance and saving money to pay for next semester).

I spent the rest of the morning in a coffeeshop with a white chocolate latte. It helped, but I'm still trying to figure out job possibilities. (There's one possibility which would be perfect, and which wouldn't have happened if I hadn't lost the accompanying thing . . . . but right now I'm waiting to find out if it *is* going to happen.) Anyhow, I think I overreacted a bit at the time, and I'm fine now, and my practice schedule has gotten a lot better--so the world is a happier place. Mostly.

And now for Other Topics . . . . .

State universities are weird. They have Theater Dance classes in which you go to class and dance (yes, that would be the kind of dancing that involves both guys and music. Jazz music, to be precise). They also have College Democrats, who put up signs with cute little donkeys on them. And they have Art Appreciation classes (complete with the occasional picture of an unclad person), taught by professors who remind me of the textbook in "Dead Poets Society."

Please don't misunderstand me--I'm *not* saying I want Robin Williams to come make us jump off our desks. (The desks couldn't take it. They would die, and we'd be lucky to escape with broken limbs.) But the professor has kind of a dry, mechanical way of looking at art, which frustrates me. A lot.

At one point she showed us a Medieval painting that looked like a very interesting Annunciation, and simply commented that it "ultimately doesn't work" because linear perspective hadn't been discovered yet. I thought it *did* work, and wanted to know who painted it, and what it was, and what the odd style might tell us about the artist's world-picture. But she just went on to the next slide and pointed out its beautiful use of linear perspective.

Sorry, that was a long tangent . . . . State universities also have trombone students who host weekly parties where everyone gets drunk and stoned (in the sense which has nothing to do with capital punishment). They have music departments which have as many students, lots more full-time professors, and *tons* more classrooms than PHC had. And while the average conversation involves school and stress and insufficient sleep, De Toqueville and Cicero are never mentioned.

That's pretty much all the news in the life of me--except for my movie recommendations of the week. If you haven't seen "Millions," you should go rent it. I finally watched it a few weeks ago, and it's amazing--a funny, sad, whimsical, beautiful little movie about a child and about faith--and one of the best stories I can think of about either. (Not necessarily the best film *for* children, though--you might want to preview before watching w/ young siblings). If you feel like going to the theaters, "The Illusionist" is delightful. (It's one of those rare and priceless movies that all Dragons would enjoy . . . . which pretty much means the whole world would like it . . . :-)

Also, if you haven't been to a classical concert recently--you really should find one to go to. Until this past Thursday I had forgotten how incredibly powerful live classical music can be . . . . what it's like to listen to music that wants your full to attention, and to *experience* that music fully, rather than merely turning it on as background to something else. (Did I ever mention that I *love* music? :-)

And now, with long postings having been posted by me and read by you, I am going to move in a bedward direction.

Oh, wait, I forgot to tell you about the armadillos. There was only one, really. I was driving home last Sunday night, and went around a curve, and there he was, scuffling from the edge of the road into the beam of my headlights. Then he went *thunk* under my car.

First thing I ever hit in all my years as a driver--well, if you don't count the tree a few weeks ago, and the First Lieutenant a couple of Thanksgivings ago, and the . . . . . . . nevermind. The point is, Pippin, he died. (The armadillo, I mean, not the 1st Lt.) And despite my post title, there isn't really a Man at all. I lied about that.

Anyway, I really am going now. Goodbye!