All aboard the awkward train.

Sometimes, when in the company of people I'm not horribly familiar with, I clam up and just listen so I can learn more about the people I'm with, and get a feel for the conversation. Other times, if I feel like I know a couple of the people well enough, I'll start trying to contribute. This often ends badly, particularly if I'm trying to impress someone. I present you with the following exhibits from this afternoon:

This is what happened when I was going to tell Jamie about the glitter on the ceiling of my bedroom back home during high school. The ellipses represent tangents I decided not to include for length's sake.

Me: "Yeah, I redid my room the summer before freshman year of high school...I spent two weeks in the garage staining my loft, so I got very familiar with the music of 96.3 in the summer of 2003, which was okay; lots of Evanescence...and we painted the room blue" [no one was listening at this point]
JM: "Wow. You should tell that story again...except this time include something interesting."
Me: [profoundly embarrassed] "Shut up."

Lesson learned: People I don't know as well will probably not put up with my awkward ramblings. Who knew!

This is an example of me trying to incorporate a reference to a television show that in my circle of friends back home would be highly appreciated:

JG: "She said something like 'These questions might show up somewhere else soon, so you should probably keep them. WINK.' "
Me: "I think if Mary ever winked, it'd look like...[to JM, as no one else is listening at this point] have you ever seen Arrested Development?"
JM: [shakes head]
Me: Oh...well, nevermind. [I was going to say I imagine it would be reminiscent of Lucille Bluth trying to wink]

Lesson learned: Sometimes I need to have an AD filter. I'm better at having a Drop Dead Gorgeous filter since it's lesser-known, but since Arrested Development is the other piece of pop culture I constantly reference, I guess I should probably pop a filter on that as well. Ah, well.

Here's something else, I guess.

Me: "I was telling the altos something, I don't remember [ramble on about what I could have been telling them, at which point no one is listening anymore except for MH and maybe JM and JG] and I told them...have you seen Mean Girls?
MH: "Yes!"
Me: [at the same time the waitress has come to get more drink orders and etc, so it takes me like two minutes to say instead of 4 seconds] "So I told them 'If you do this or wear this (or whatever) YOUCAN'TSINGWITHUS!!"
MH: [laughs]
Me: [shuts up and takes a drink so I can sink back into listening to the conversation]

Just when I think my awkward side is tamed, this happens. I guess it's a similar situation Kelli is in, where I find my niche with my regular friends, but as soon as someone new is in the mix, I'm just like "well oh crap I have to define myself, PLEASE FIND ME INTERESTING AND FUNNY, I BEG YOU."

Oh, and I'm now actually thinking about grad school, which is mildly terrifying. I just wanted to get through undergrad and teach middle school choir and strings. Is that so difficult?

Things I Have Learned in the Past Month [ish]

In no particular order:

- The fact that something is "understandable" won't necessarily make it hurt less.

- When you give a really solid performance, perhaps the defining performance of your career so far, there is bound to be a downer feeling afterward, a lack of energy in the days to come.

- Also, don't beat yourself up if every performance isn't exactly as perfect as the best one you've given. Life will go on, and someone somewhere enjoyed it.

- God puts some beautiful people in your life when you're not looking, in places you wouldn't expect.

- Sometimes it's actually a relief when your D&D character dies...when you haven't put much time into them and you want to move on with another character.

- Shirley Schmidt is perhaps my favorite character on Boston Legal.
- There are few things that a night of Arrested Development and Boston Legal can't cure.

- Don't watch Audition. Just don't do it.
- If you're not careful, history is bound to repeat itself.

- SAI sisters are amazing.

- Matthew Allen? Really not a bad guy. Though he may have at least a man-crush on a certain freshman in our studio.

- Romans is a really freaking sweet book in the Bible.

- Money should not come before friendship.

- Being constantly busy is actually not a good thing.

- Sleep is highly underrated.


I think I'm going to pop in some Boston Legal and eat some lunch. It's going to be a good day.

Add to that list...Schmidt.

It would seem that I haven't updated my blog in over a month, now. I do apologize, for the few of you that read this. I can hardly believe we're already halfway through the first semester here at CMU, and so much has happened. I'd like for everything to slow down, but I'll just have to deal with it.

I'd especially like to slow down this week because mine and Monica's voice recital jury is on Friday, and I have a sore throat. I can still sing, but I fear the condition of my voice this week. At least I know my music backward and forward now!

I've also gotten some semblance of a job: tutoring students in voice pedagogy! I signed up as a theory tutor, but we'll have to wait and see how that goes.

Oh dear, I'm slightly distracted by Boston Legal, as Denny Crane just bust into the courtroom in Revolutionary War apparel. I also just died a little of cute as James Spader hugged Betty White.

It'll take me a little bit to get back into the swing of regularly posting, and getting my creative juices flowing. So to speak. Er.

Denny Crane.

Of Cabbages and Kings

I was going to review Brave New World and Bell Jar, then I realized I only have like 15 minutes and I don't have the books with me for reference. Bah.

At the beginning of the week I decided to start writing everything in cursive. I've just noticed a lot of cursive lately in Monica's writing and in a lot of signatures. As I've been experimenting with it, I've discovered new ways of making my handwriting distinctive, and I've actually enjoyed picking up a pen and just writing lately for the fun of it. I guess it's just a small part of myself I want to improve. I've started using the "Disney D" as my cursive capital D, and experimenting with how I write letters like i and t. It also makes me really think about what I'm writing, like what comprises the words and sentences. It'll be interesting to see where this goes.

Bach. I don't even know where to start with the man. He wrote some fabulous music, and was utterly brilliant, but somewhere along the way he must have been, I don't know, given a venereal disease by a singer because he just seems to have hated them. I imagine if I had to sing the Esurientes implevit bonis from his Magnificat for him, Bach would cackle with glee to see me fall over dead from asphyxiation when he didn't let me take a breath during that second sixteenth-note run. The man wrote beautiful music, it's just all written instrumentally. It would be infinitely easier to play than to sing. And that is all I will say about that.

NOTE: To those of you who saw the CMU choir concert last fall, you should come up again this October to hear us sing another Whitacre piece. We're doing Water Night.

This post was going to be longer, but I have to go to ACDA, so nevermind! This weekend I'll write about having to conduct to Katy Perry and Ke$ha in class this week.

A Childhood of Terror

It has been almost a month since my last update, and for that I do apologize. There has been a lot going on, and when I finally wanted to update this blog, my computer decided that it was going to be a filthy strumpet and get all sorts of viruses that destroyed everything. It is currently out being fixed, and I should get it back in a few weeks, though maybe not up and in proper working order for another week after that. So, there it is. It's computer labs and the generosity of my fellow people for me.

I'm currently in the Music Resource Center after my first day of fall classes, having just rerouted the delivery of my new phone to the UPS delivery place tomorrow. Yes, new phone from the insurance company, because my screen has a crack in it. All of my technology seems to just detest me lately.

But that is not what I am here to tell you. I am here to tell you about the wonderful relationship I have with my dear older sister, Linden Lea. Linden has always been a wonderful older sister, setting a wonderful example of how to do well in school, do well in music, interact with friends, and of course interact with our parents (the last of which I of course entirely ignored, to my parents' chagrin). Wonderful.

Most of my friends know that she and I have a relationship that is at once loving, understanding, and riddled with silly inside jokes that only we understand. What most of them don't realize is that she was also a very typical older sister, who enjoyed terrorizing her young, naive wittle sister Kiki.

My first real memory of Din taking delight in scaring me was playing cards. This is the first instance because it is also the silliest. We would play Crazy 8's quite a bit when I was little, as it was a simple, Uno-like game I understood easily, without too many rules. I have a very distinct memory of Linden and myself sitting at the red card table in our basement, playing Crazy 8's, and Linden all of a sudden holding her cards up to her face so that I could only see her eyes, which were narrowed to evil slits. For some reason this scared the ever living crap out of me, and I believe I first started whining, then probably bawling because I thought for some reason that something terrible would happen.
This happened every time we played cards for probably a year. Honestly it's probably one of those things where she was like "Hey, look at this, isn't it weird that she's scared of this? I know right?" And it was just kind of funny. I mean it's not something I'm still scared of to this day, and it's actually pretty funny and cute looking back. I mean, I was probably 5 or 6 at the time.

Some years later, when I was probably 10 or so, we were moving around some of my parents' posters from Royal Shakespeare Company plays they'd been to in the '70s and '80s. There were some Much Ado About Nothing posters, which consisted of a poster for the show, and two black & white prints of Beatrice and Benedick in scenes. I think Derek Jacobi was in that show, was the big deal. They also have a framed picture from that show in our basement. It used to sit by our television, if anyone can specifically remember that.

Well, there was also a poster from the RSC's production of a certain play connected with Scotland with a character named Macbeth. This poster was illustrated by Ralph Steadman. Go on, google him. I'll wait.

Ready? Okay. Linden told me to come over to the shelving in the basement, where the posters were being kept. "Kirsten!" She called, "Come look!" At which point she flipped forward the Much Ado poster to reveal this monstrosity:

This is much more terrifying when 2'x3' and in higher definition.

I dimly recall shrieking and then, in a shocking turn of events, crying. This time, Linden was taken aback and apologized for scaring me, and we talked about how stupid that poster is, because it's not even of a character in the play, I mean really.

End result? Kind of a funny story, but I'm still uneasy around that poster.


This last one is not really Linden's fault, but more the fault of my overactive imagination and clearly overactive sense of worry. Right.

All of our Christmas supplies and decorations are kept in this closet under the basement stairs, in the laundry room. Every year we open it and every year it looks smaller and smaller. There is a bare light bulb that you turn on by pulling a taut string after you open the door, and the words MRS. DYL are illuminated in dripping white paint on the board right in front of your face. It's really kind of creepy.

One year I finally asked Linden who this MRS. DYL person was. Her reply began innocently enough: "She's the first lady who lived in this house."
"Really?"
"Yeah." Short pause. "This is the room she was murdered in."

At this point I believe I made a face similar to D: or maybe O.O and proceeded to wonder about how she could have been murdered, who could have painted her name in the closet, why they did so, if she was buried under the house, if she would haunt my dreams or maybe just every Christmas from this point onward...you know, the usual things a worrywart worries about.

I never asked Linden about it until several years later, when I reminded her that she said that and she said she was kidding, and she didn't think I'd taken it seriously. Even though I'd stopped really believing it was the case, it has always made me wary of opening that closet door after a year has gone by.

I think the scary stories and attempts to give me jolts were either conscious or unconscious acts of revenge for all the times my clumsy self accidentally hurt her: I slammed a car door on her hand, I dropped a bowling ball on her toe, and I accidentally wounded my sister countless times by doing stupid things. I love my sister though, and I love that we have these stories to share.

Dreams.

It's funny how some people forget how to dream. I'm not talking about like life goals or hopes or desires, but actual dreams. Like, from a REM cycle.

I rarely tell my parents what my dreams are made of, in large part because 1) it's rarely something they'd find interesting, and 2) they don't get that it's okay for dreams to be weird. I don't know if "weird" is right, because usually when I tell them a strange dream, my parents shake their heads and laugh at me, asking me if I'm on crack. It might be thoughtless of me to say this, but I doubt crack addicts remember their dreams. If they do, I'll bet they're horrifying.

[something like this]

No, the only time I tell my dreams to my parents is if they're still haunting me years later, or if I'm trying to remember them because they were really cool.

Which brings me to my next point: we all easily remember the worst dreams we've ever had, and we often remember several of them, comparing whose subconscious is the most unsettling; but anytime I've ever had an especially cool dream, I have to work my butt off to remember it. Generally writing it down helps me, but only if I do it quickly before everything fades. Sometimes, if a dream is exceptionally cool, I'll remember it for a long time just by telling people about it.
Exhibit A: The Din Stalker. One night back in early high school, I had a dream that my sister Linden and I were at home alone, watching television. We heard a tapping at the window, and when we looked up all the blinds were gone from the windows, and this shadowy, creepy guy leered at us. We instinctively knew he was going after Linden, and we ran around to hide behind our big, heavy front door...which was gone. Every glass in our house that looked outside was now uncovered, providing dozens of ways for the Din Stalker to peer in. We hid all over the house, in every room, only to have that creeper looking in on us and waving menacingly. We finally ended up in my basement, eventually in the walk-in closet. I woke up just as the stalker was breaking the door down with an axe.End Result of Exhibit A: I prefer to keep the blinds closed when I'm at home, especially when I'm alone.

Exhibit B: Ioan Gruffudd. Around the same time as the Din Stalker Dream, I had a dream that I was walking around Churchill, knowing that Ioan Gruffudd was there. I don't remember exactly what happened, but we kissed and he said stuff and I don't even have real memories of it. I just have to tell myself what happened. Why can't I fully remember dreams as awesome as that?

End Result of Exhibit B: Frustration. [I feel like Ioan is disappointed in me.]

Exhibit C: Forced Marriage. Probably senior year of high school, I had a dream that I was on my way to a church (Faith Lutheran, to be exact, probably because of my experiences there with Livonia Youth Choir) with my parents, dressed in all black. I didn't know why we were going, but it seemed ominous. We pulled up and I got out of the car in front of the church, where my old stand partner from Ward Church was waiting in a tux. Apparently we were going to be married. Now, I have nothing against the guy, but I have never been in any way attracted to him. I started crying and trying to get away, but they just dragged me into the church and I was forced to marry him.

End Result of Exhibit C: I always feel uncomfortable even talking to him on facebook, because whenever I think of him I think of that dream and get creeped out. He is in no way a creepy guy, but that's what happened.

Exhibit D: Series of Awesome Tally Hall Dreams. About 2 years ago, I had this awesome dream about Tally Hall performing in South Africa in the same place as the CMU Choir, and I got to help them set up, and Zubin started making out with me. The only reason I even remember this dream [which I'm not telling in great detail because it's long and complex] is because I told Liz and Monica and we discussed it at great length. A year ago I had a series of dreams one night involving Tally Hall, and they were completely. Awesome. I believe I wrote them all down and I know I told Kelsey and Liz, but apparently that wasn't enough because I only remember that after one concert I got to hang out with them, and then aliens attacked and Kelsey and Andrew and I were abducted and Kelsey and I defeated the aliens.

End Result of Exhibit D: Feeling like a fangirl, and knowing that I will never, ever post my dreams on the "Tally Hall Dreams" page of the Hidden in the Sand blogs.

Exhibit E: Zombie Mental Hospital. This one I remember in great detail because it was both scary and awesome, and I felt like a total badass when I woke up. Josh Graham and I ended up at this abandoned mental hospital and its grounds overrun by zombies. We holed up and found other survivors, and the zombies started to bust in at the sound of the music from the outside speakers (reminding me of Left 4 Dead). I was about to go all Samwise on them with a cast iron skillet when I woke up. It was a great dream.

End Result of Exhibit E: I feel that I will be ready for the zombie apocalypse, and worse, I think I could survive.

Heck, sometimes I even remember weird or awesome dreams my friends have had, particularly if they involve me, but sometimes that's not even required.

Exhibit A: Butterball Chicken. Kelli had a dream, probably in early high school or late middle school, that she and I were at the mall, and I killed someone with a butterball chicken. I'm not sure exactly how this was accomplished, or even if it was cooked, but these are the possibilities I can think of:
-bludgeoning someone to death
-stabbing someone with a leg
-tearing off the skin and strangliing someone with it

End Result of Exhibit A: Once again I feel quite wrongly like some kind of MacGyver who can kill anyone with anything, even a butterball chicken.
EDIT: After reading this Cracked article, I feel I could actually do this.

Exhibit B: Zombies with Josh 2: Electric Boogaloo. This time it was Josh Graham who had the dream where we were stuck together in the zombie apocalypse, but I got separated from him in a crowd and was ripped to pieces. He looked over, freaked out, and got away as quickly as possible. I would have been offended, but it was really the only logical choice.

End Result of Exhibit B: I am resigned to my probable fate should the zombie apocalypse ever occur. But that doesn't mean I won't go out with a bang.

[You're welcome.]

Exhibit C: Suicide Party. A friend of mine recently had a dream that another friend of ours was having the usual crowd over to his house...for a suicide party. From what I gathered, he was going to commit suicide and he was just...having a party! And we were all acting like everything was normal, but I think the dreamer was kinda freaking out, which is how that all normally works.

End Result of Exhibit C: I am actually very shook up about this and more wary of my friends' emotions.

I had a dream the other night that was incredibly weird in its specificity, involving Kelli, myself, a murderer, other Daria characters, and members of our family. When I related it to my mother, she shook her head and said I was crazy. I'm sorry, if you're not having crazy dreams, then you're the weird one, not me.

Suck. On. That.

I hate going to the doctor's office. Actually, I loathe going to the dentist, so I guess it could be worse. I used to hate going because I went to a pediatrician until I was 19 or so. I haven't been to the doctor at home in a couple of years; last winter I went to a few docs up at school and the otolaryngologist (ear/nose/throat doctor) for my tonsils. Between me turning 21, not being sure if what I had is allergies or a cold, and my mom wanting to get me checked out since I'm more genetically prone to be bi-polar or depressed, we decided it was time to get me to a "real" doctor.

I also hated going to the doctor because of the whole part where they weigh you. That was the main reason why I was terrified of going to the doctor this time, largely because I'd checked myself on our home scale and it was some impossible number that I knew couldn't be right because I can fit into last year's clothes but oh no what if it's right the doctor is going to freak out at me and tell me I need to change my lifestyle which I do and I should get on that right now and ASLDKGJADFGKLJSDFGLKJ was how that thought process went.So I go in, and the nurse says "Alright, now I'm going to weigh you," to which I reply, "Wonderful." I get on the scale, ready to cry, when all of a sudden she goes all the way to the end of the one section and I'm sure she'll have to continue on up the scale

...but she pulls the little mini weight back about halfway to what I can safely say is my lowest weight of 2009 (sometime in the fall), the year I eventually lost about 15 pounds.

I think to myself, if I lost 15 pounds and I basically kept off that weight, then that means I can lose another 15 this summer. Losing about 20 would put me back at my ending high school weight, which would make me feel FANTASTIC. I went through the rest of my day with a bit more spring in my step, knowing that our home scale is a good 25 pounds off.[above: my general attitude for the rest of Friday]

Saturday, on the other hand, was a weird day. I started off feeling exhausted but optimistic, thinking I would be just content to stay at home and do a lot of reading in Infinite Jest. My mother said, "Go to the drugstore first and get your prescription." So off I went on my merry way, only to find out that the doctor didn't call in my prescription to any CVS on Friday, and I would have to wait until Monday to get it. Already feeling a bit overwhelmed by not being able to sleep the night before and overthinking myself into kind of an existential crisis, I started crying on the way home from the drugstore, and didn't stop until about two-and-a-half hours later.
That was when Kelsey came over and we watched the first four episodes ever of Star Trek on dvd, and we talked a little and I started feeling better in general. Campy sci-fi makes everything better. Jon showed up for the last episode and stayed after Kelsey left, and later helped me through an existential crisis, but that's not important right now.

What is important is that the fourth episode of season 1 of Star Trek is called "The Naked Time," and is absolutely ridiculous. An alien virus starts infecting the crew, spreading via perspiration, and removes the crew's inhibitions. One would think that this implies lots and lots of trysts, given the title (there was some discrepancy over whether it was "The Naked Time" or "The Naked Time!"). What it means, however, is that everyone's facade is stripped away, revealing their desires and secret feelings. As far as we know, the virus only made one man suicidal, and he killed himself with a butter knife. It makes most of them act very silly, like Sulu ("who longs to be a swashbuckler out of your 18th Century) some of them relentlessly irritating, (like this fellow who hijacked Scotty's position and kept singing "Kathleen" over the intercom)or in Spock's case, incredibly, heartwrenchingly emotional. [below: a very poor rendering of Kelsey dying a little over Spock]Remember that part where I can't draw? I'm sorry, Kelsey.