hair is cut. it's definitely an improvement; i don't have to condition my hair twice every time i take a shower, and it doesn't get caught in jackets, underneath my arms, etc. plus, it looks pretty good if i do say so myself.
but enough about me. Tyler's bar mitzvah went exceptionally well... he was amazing. i didn't screw up my torah chant, the party was fun, it was nice to see family, etc. etc.
this is the reader's digest of my weekend, in case you hadn't noticed. i'm off to bed in a moment. not even spending the extra .0007 seconds it takes to use capitalization.
i started work this week- the kids are wonderful. i really shouldn't discuss details of work for confidentiality reasons; this doesn't matter much now, but i'm sure i'll be sad to miss out on recording a few of the better anecdotes that undoubtedly arise from working with kids.
in other news, i should not have had so much milk right before bed. probably something you didn't need to know.
and with that fantastic thought, i'm off to dreamland. goodnight, dear ones...
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
cutting off all my hair...
I'm really nervous about it actually.
To clarify: I am doing Locks of Love, so I'm getting at least 10 inches chopped off.
10 inches! It's a scary thought. My hair hasn't been less than shoulder length since.. well, before freshman year. Of high school. And back then, I couldn't do a thing with it. What's to say that I won't have the same out-of-control mess on my head once this is done?
And it isn't only that... I like having a huge curtain of hair that gets all over the place. I am endlessly amused by the idea that when I let down my hair, it covers more of my chest than a modest bathing suit would. I am constantly touching it, braiding it, twisting it, and so on.
Which is actually kind of gross, I guess.
But I'm exciting to try something new. And part of me doesn't give a shit if it looks awful because well, it's hair, and hair grows back. And goodness knows that I need to get rid of some of it.
So we'll see. My appointment is sandwiched in between a laundry list of Bar Mitzvah preparation activities and a drive into Mt. Airy for more work training. I am trying to give it as little focus as possible. What happens, happens.
(and if what happens sucks, you can bet you'll be hearing all about it in approximately 24 hours time)
To clarify: I am doing Locks of Love, so I'm getting at least 10 inches chopped off.
10 inches! It's a scary thought. My hair hasn't been less than shoulder length since.. well, before freshman year. Of high school. And back then, I couldn't do a thing with it. What's to say that I won't have the same out-of-control mess on my head once this is done?
And it isn't only that... I like having a huge curtain of hair that gets all over the place. I am endlessly amused by the idea that when I let down my hair, it covers more of my chest than a modest bathing suit would. I am constantly touching it, braiding it, twisting it, and so on.
Which is actually kind of gross, I guess.
But I'm exciting to try something new. And part of me doesn't give a shit if it looks awful because well, it's hair, and hair grows back. And goodness knows that I need to get rid of some of it.
So we'll see. My appointment is sandwiched in between a laundry list of Bar Mitzvah preparation activities and a drive into Mt. Airy for more work training. I am trying to give it as little focus as possible. What happens, happens.
(and if what happens sucks, you can bet you'll be hearing all about it in approximately 24 hours time)
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Of course, I should be studying for my Harmony final....
There is really only so much time that one can spend analyzing the Tristan chord. In my opinion, it doesn't matter whether G#BD#F functions as a dominant V in A minor with two appoggiaturas or as a French sixth in the same key with only one appoggiatura. I mean, really... how much ink has been spilled to argue about four silly notes? If I slam my hand on a keyboard, decide that I like the sound it makes, and turn it into the first chord of an opera prelude, no one gives a shit. But Wagner does it, and music theorists all over the world wet their pants for the next 150 years writing articles and books (and probably blog entries) about it.
Oh Wagner, y u gotta b so *controversial*?
But enough pretending that my current limited musical analysis abilities are simply the result of my distaste for the plethora of literature on the Tristan chord. In truth, I am so over my head with this final that, despite garnering A after A on weekly assignments, I will probably end up with a somewhat diminished grade. Like, maybe a half-diminished grade, should we say.
Ha. ha. Harmony jokes. Ugh.
BUT. Only one more day of this, and then I return home. Home! Glorious home, with my glorious room and glorious bed and glorious bathtub and glorious fridge filled with glorious food and glorious Comcast Digital Cable with HBO and all of the episodes of John Adams just waiting... waiting... for me to gorge myself upon them.
Not that I will have so much time for wastin'. Tyler is getting Bar Mitzvah'd on Saturday, and I have yet to spend more than three consecutive minutes looking at the Torah portion that I will be chanting in front of the hordes of friends and family. Not to mention that I have to meet three clients this week for summer work, and begin training.
But as long as none of the above activities involve identifying the non-tonal major-third/minor-third ladder of the finale of Stravinksy's Firebird, I am totally cool with it.
Oh Wagner, y u gotta b so *controversial*?
But enough pretending that my current limited musical analysis abilities are simply the result of my distaste for the plethora of literature on the Tristan chord. In truth, I am so over my head with this final that, despite garnering A after A on weekly assignments, I will probably end up with a somewhat diminished grade. Like, maybe a half-diminished grade, should we say.
Ha. ha. Harmony jokes. Ugh.
BUT. Only one more day of this, and then I return home. Home! Glorious home, with my glorious room and glorious bed and glorious bathtub and glorious fridge filled with glorious food and glorious Comcast Digital Cable with HBO and all of the episodes of John Adams just waiting... waiting... for me to gorge myself upon them.
Not that I will have so much time for wastin'. Tyler is getting Bar Mitzvah'd on Saturday, and I have yet to spend more than three consecutive minutes looking at the Torah portion that I will be chanting in front of the hordes of friends and family. Not to mention that I have to meet three clients this week for summer work, and begin training.
But as long as none of the above activities involve identifying the non-tonal major-third/minor-third ladder of the finale of Stravinksy's Firebird, I am totally cool with it.
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