makes me smile

staring

I biked a little out of the way to a cafe that I like with a plan; I was going to read my new book and drink a latte. I walked in, ordered my drink for-here, and settled down in a rather secluded area of the place. My book wasn't in my bag! I didn't know what to do with myself. I always do things, hipsteremo or embarrassing things, in the coffee shops like...reading French, writing in my little moleskin, having a discussion about something or another. I decided that I would just stare into space. Or if an unsuspecting person walked into my field of vision, they would be people-watched. I sipped my latte and looked at every piece of art I could spy. Then I stared at people using their laptops and the people who would walk by the window. I kept hoping that it would rain but there was no chance of that happening. I looked at my fingernails and analyzed the stains on my table. I crossed by legs and picked at the hairs I missed when I shaved. I noticed how poorly I had painted my little pinkytoe.

Then I was caught off-guard. A strange, coffee shop philosopher, could he be homeless?, Type appeared, seated, at the table across from me, on the other side of the room. He was staring right at me. I guess he didn't have anything to do either. I stared back. He was scraggly-bearded and had crystal-eyes. He had in front of him a laptop computer from 1999. (Did they make those back then?) It had a sticker on it that said "My Vote counts more than y'all's". I stared at all of it. Every single bit of it. He was doing the same. I didn't expect it, but I guess we really did have a lot in common.

Poor, Neglected Bloggy Blog

Photo of the Bratfest mural or something or another. Someone decided to be a real smart@## and paint that brat bun purple.

What a travesty! Seeing the timestamp from my last entry makes me feel like an abusive mother. A lot has happened since then and I truly don't feel like making a big update about my goings on. Recently, my sis (Val) and her husband (Brett) came for a little visit. I am relieved that they had a great time! I know I did. Becky and I shuttled them around the greater Madison area, showing them the sites and the wonders of Dairyland. It really is about the food here. And the beer. But all of that is counterbalanced with the walking! Yes. I have a reputation for walking my visitors to death. Walking around the farmer's market and up to the capitol's observation deck, followed by a meandering walk down State St. to the terrace. Things get to be a little cardiovascular on occasion...but we have to do something to burn of that damn spicy cheese bread!

Bratfest was a real treat. It is a cross between a skank carnival and a blues fest. Add $1.50 Johnsonville brats (yes...this is basically a double-entendre-fest) and one has a very affordable lunch. Not to mention the people watching! The wiener mobile was a hit and Becky got a wiener Whistle for her vocal skills at the Oscar Meyer Wiener Song.

More photos and updates to come! I promise. I don't have a job. I am basically playing the clarinet, doing random gigs, teaching a few students, being a paid research participant, teaching a few other things, learning French and biking around. What else am I going to do?

mmm wine.

I haven't posted in a good long while!
I have lost my since of wonder in the world, so I am looking for what is good.

I am really into any wine sold at Trader Joe's. Right now I am sipping two-buck chuck pinot Grigio.

Today I made a decision that I will start exercising every day in some form or fashion. I should like myself better, so I have also decided to put good things in my body (and not the bad things).

I am going to read tonight FOR FUN. FICTION. Not about anything clarinet-related.

I enjoy the Flaming Lips Pandora section.

I performed in a recital tonight and I really had fun. A bonus was that I ate lunch, dinner, and dessert at recital receptions. I also got a Great Dane gift card.

I made $15 dollars for working with a student on a Broadway tune.

I laughed a lot and made other people laugh. I hugged someone who needed a hug badly.

I bought new, organic conditioner.

My clarinet teacher bragged about me to another clarinet teacher.

I cried when I watched a youtube video of puff the magic dragon.

*sips wine*

leading a horse to water

He tugs on the reins, trying to force her to the bank.
Leather, sweat, fear;
these smells will promote a certain nostalgia in days to come,
sitting by the fireplace, on the porch, in the dandelions,
wherever, everywhere.
She is determined not to cross and is determined to pull his arms from the sockets.
There is no other way but this way
no matter how cold the fresh, rushing water,
how thick and threatening the mountain laurel
(hiding demonsmonsterstrolls, whether they are there or not, they could be),
no matter.
Here is where they have to cross.
Hooves flailing and stirrups flying, she rolls her eyes wildly, meeting his.
He must go first.
She can't be led to water
she won't put a foot, a thought into it
until he submerges himself.
The river is rushing high, higher than he has ever seen it,
over the slick river rocks, limbs and logs, jagged, poking out
through the mirror-surface,
water will make its way around these obstacles,
it never ceases, never stops.
It won't stop for him or her or anyone.
She will never cross
His calloused, weathered hands toss his jacket over her head.
The world is shut out.
There are only sounds of unknown origin
magnified by a sharp cold jab, a stumbling uncertainty,
his knowledge, hers, blesserhart, that one misstep could be the end.
Nostrils flare to catch a scent and there is only him.
There is only trust.

End of an (ridiculously lengthy) era

I just read about the death of Wolfgang Wagner, Richard Wagner's grandson. He died on Sunday and he was 90 years old. I found this out through Alex Ross's blog, Unquiet Thoughts. It is strange to think that this guy was walking around after 8 generations or something. He called Adolf Hitler Uncle Wolf.

time time time time

I played in a premiere of a Nathan Currier piece earlier this month and I could never get the text out of my brain: time time time time time, so on and so forth. I always want time, more time to do more things, but there is never enough. And when I finally have that time I am more content to stare into space like a zombie, more content to feel empty and sorry for myself. It is almost as if all of this stuff I am prone to doing is filling up the silence of my life, occupying my brain so that I don't have to think about myself.

Now I guess I am going to go for a walk and look at the lake or other people. I think I will go to a coffee shop and read or study for the history exam I have to take in a month. I will probably practice and teach a lesson. I was never really good at being alone.