The Grand Adventures of Erin Eliza

Erin gra mo chroi! and the F statistic

2010-03-20T10:28:00.000-07:00

My St Patrick's Day Included:
-a bagpipe moshpit
-obligatory green shamrock facepaint
-The 12 Toasts of Ireland, a rousing carol composed late in the evening/early in the morning, consisting of 12 verses. Unfortunately I can only remember the last: "-aand Irish Sea Shantyssss!"

In retrospect it would have been much better if March 17th did not fall on a Wednesday this year.

It is the homestretch of midterms and recital prep before spring break, and I am so glad. I don't really have time to write this right now, but I can't look at ANOVA tables anymore, so here we are. I've been working on my statistics projects all week, and the "F" statistic (the variance distribution of the ratio of treatment error over mean square error) has taken on a new meaning for me. I'm heading back to Kentucky over spring break, and I am relieved. Nothing sounds better to me right now than accidentally cleaning my paint brush in Earl Grey, falling asleep under the old oak with a novel in my lap, pickin till it's time for breakfast, and dancing blisters into the bottoms my feet.

Even with the mid-semester press, my friends are making sure I get out of the library and live when I can. I've never been more grateful for their encouragement than I was yesterday. The evening began at the ever-classy Quick and Delicious (a town diner that is exactly as charming as it sounds) with a "plate o taters," and ended in a red dress and low dip to the crooning of Nina Simone. This morning I fell asleep grinning after a night of shuffling/twirling/dipping/spinning/laughing at the blues and swing dances. My calves ache, I literally danced through the bottom of my stockings, and it felt great! I'm going to count both of these as marks of a successful night.

(Obies take note, there's more dancing to come: tonight (Saturday) at 8:30 Wilder Main for swing dancing, then from midnight to 2 at the Cat for blues )

Dancing About Architecture, and Recipes

2010-02-24T09:13:00.000-08:00

"Talking about Jazz is like dancing about architecture."
-Thelonius Monk

I'm going to try anyways.

Mingus said something interesting about soloing, and how it's like a conversation. He said 'you don't walk into a room and say "AHHHHHH!" You say "hello."'

Hello.

What do you say after that?

Three things scare the hell out of me right now. No, four. Well...ok anyways, some things scare me, and one of them is taking an improvised solo in front of people who know something about music. Until now I never considered it a disadvantage that nearly everyone at Oberlin knows "something" about music. Put another way, the house that I usually jam in is home to jazz majors. They have studied, played, and transcribed just about everybody, including Mingus. While friendly, they are extremely intimidating.

Look, Ma, I'm jumping in the pool with no floaties! I think I'll dog paddle for awhile. But there's big kids in here!

(Mom wouldn't say it exactly this way but the meaning would be the same: "Man up" or alternately "quitcherbitchin!")

OTHER NEWS:
I've been thinking recently about how intertwined everything really is, and how the things I do outside of music are not really outside of music at all. I'm not sure anything I do is really is. That got me thinking about how I might consciously bring my world to the practice room, the jam, the stage.

For instance, I've recently taken up yoga. Beyond the obvious strength and concentration benefits, yoga is all about using your breath constructively, and so is music. You have to breathe into and out of phrases, and with the motion of your body (especially with an instrument as physical as bass). Doris, my hot Austrian yoga instructor, often implores us to use breath to sink deeper into poses, to stretch longer, to hold firmer. Mr Sperl has given me similar advice, though he wasn't wearing a sports bra or balancing on his fingers/doing splits at the time.

How does your daily life inform your music?
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Keep co-op healthy snacks:

Sweet potato spread:
Boil sweet potatoes until they are soft. When cool pull the skins off. Cut into cubes, spice with salt/pepper, curry, cinnamon, and whatever else you want. Add maple syrup. Puree in a food processor. Serve with bread/eat an entire bowl for breakfast before class.

Roasted Chickpeas:
soak and cook the dried chickpeas, or use canned. Toss with olive oil, salt, cumin, allspice, maybe cardamom, marjoram and/or whatever else you want. Roast in oven on baking sheet at 4:50 for about 25-30 minutes until crunchy and delicious.

Cooperation:
Combine strong opinions, loose alliances, and sugar. Set aside. In another container combine logic, precedent, and common sense. Mix thoroughly. Slowly add the second group of ingredients to the first, stirring after each addition. Taste periodically and adjust ingredients accordingly. Put on heat until solid.
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Earlier today I looked at my clock and it said 11:11. 11:11 is special to me, because when I was a kid I used to make wishes at 11:11, about everything from ghosts to boys to hoping mom wouldn't find out who broke whatever I'd just broken. I'm not a kid anymore, and the magical status of my worldview is in flux, but today, just because, I made a wish anyways. Later I realized that since I set my clock five minutes fast, 11:11 wasn't actually 11:11 at all, and I had wasted my wish. Another day this realization wouldn't have been worth writing about, it might even have been kind of funny, but not today. Today all I could think was that even when I know I'm fooling myself, I'm still fooled. That's when I decided it's silly to make wishes.

Throw Down Your Heart

2010-02-17T07:23:00.000-08:00

(Picture By David Roswell, OC '13)

Coffee and sleep are the same right?

Well no, not really. I discovered that when I stumbled into what I thought was my morning class today.

I had my glasses off, because when I come in to heated buildings out of the cold (aside: it is STILL snowing) they fog up and I can't see anyways. Squinty eyed and slump-backed I feel for the door knob to the classroom and settle my glasses on my nose on as I walk to my usual seat. That's when I noticed the class was a lot smaller, and we had a different teacher today. I give my friend Adam a nod and weary smile and slip my purse off my shoulder-

-wait, Adam isn't in this class with me.

Not only did I go to the completely wrong class, I went at the wrong time. Which is why I am writing to you, because I now have thirty minutes before my actual class. Brilliant. (I would have had an hour, except when I realized what I'd done I went straight to the coffee shop for another hit.)

Trial and error. I Tried going dancing after the concert last night, and crawling into bed at 2 AM too tired to even preload the espresso machine. This was an Error. I found out exactly how much of an error it was in my 9 AM class this morning, as my pen slid off a page of notes I had no recollection or comprehension of. Appropriately for my little experiment, the class was research methods. In this case I don't think I need repeated trials to draw a strong conclusion.

Anyway this extra time does give me the chance to share something incredible with you.

The concert last night! You would have loved it so much! Bela Fleck and the Africa project came to Finney Chapel, and I think it's safe to say that nothing quite like this has ever shaken those ancient rafters before. The concert opened with the man himself calmly walking across the stage towards a suddenly hushed and expectant crowd. After greeting the eager crowd ("Hi, how y'all doin?") he selected a banjo from a rack of 5 and perched himself on a stool in the center of the giant stage. When the first notes of his high lyrical melody line reached my ears I had to check to verify that he was really playing. He was incredibly still as this music poured from him, only his fingers fluttering across the strings, hitting harmonics and picking out double stops, sliding and caressing. He was the embodiment of what my orchestra director in high school called "controlled power." His improvisational style was quintessentially Bela, but with undertones of compound rhythms and surprising harmonic elements that foreshadowed the acoustic journey that would follow. When the last notes of his solo faded away, there was a second of stillness before the audience erupted into raucous applause. The applause went on so long that he had to interrupt just to introduce the next musicians, Anania Ngoliga and John Kitime from Tanzania.

Did you know thumb harp can be sexy? It can also be humorous, despondent, pouty, joyful, and full of sorrow. I didn't know either, but now I do. Anania Ngoliga added his soulful baritone, and occasionally his playful falsetto and mad-sounding cackle (complete with hen clucks, imitating the voice of an old girlfriend) to virtuosity on an instrument I did not even know you could attain virtuosity on.

I came into this concert thinking it was going to be like nothing I'd ever heard before. In a lot of ways I was right. When the band from Mali began playing, led by the regal Bassekou Kouate and his captivating wife Amy Sacko, I couldn't even figure out what meter they were playing in for awhile, and still don't know how to pronounce the instruments they were playing. Some things were very familiar however. The improvisational conversations between Kouate (on a small gourd and bone/stick instrument that would have had the lead role of a trumpet in jazz or a mandolin in grass) and Fleck were reminiscent of two jazz greats talking back and stirring each other to greater heights. The vocal technique reminded me of the high and tense harmonies of some of the old bluegrass legends. At some points they were almost yodelling, pitching high and flipping falsetto across the thump of the bass. Then Anania would break through the texture with a low and powerful moan from somewhere deep inside. Though the scale was unfamiliar to me, there was definitely something of the blues in the way Amy Sacko talked to the crowd with her powerfully soulful vocal solos.

It was Bassekou Kouate who gave me my favorite moment of the whole concert, at the climax of one of his improvised solos. He was winding high, with Bela in perfect complimentary sync laying ascending chromatic notes in his rests. A strange mix of surging triplets against duples drove the sound forward, and as Kouate reached the top he rolled his head back across his shoulders in what looked like complete ecstasy. He stretched the rhythm and held on to just a few notes, suspended, as the rest of the band oscillated back and forth through chords beneath him, and from my seat in the balcony I felt the lift, tension, and opening up of his line as a physical sensation in my body.

I think it's worth noting that Kouate's gesture at that moment, when he rolled his head across his shoulders, was extremely familiar to me. The last time I saw it, however, I was in a bar in Kentucky, wearing cowboy boots, and I'm pretty sure someone responded by shouting "yeehaw." I'm smiling right now thinking about it. Just goes to show you everything really is connected.

That wasn't the only jaw dropping moment of the night. To open the second set Bela came out and played an entire piece of sliding double stops on his open strings, by rapidly retuning his banjo as the notes sounded. And of course there was Amy Sacko. If anyone knows how to throw down their heart for music, it is this woman. She sang her heart out in the second set, and the energy she commanded sizzled through the air to fill Finney chapel to the brim. When she finished, Bela commented "I don't know what she was singing about, but she really meant it."

There was a powerful driver behind the Malinese band, Ngoni Ba. I'm gonna try and tell you about his instrument, but I don't really know what I'm talking about. One man in the back of the band had what looked like a giant gourd, sawed in half lying on a table. Throughout the night he would alternately scrape his fingertips, rap his knuckles, slap his palms, or slam his fist into the gourd in a combination of rhythms that I could feel in my heart but had no hope of understanding. As the solos surged and pulled over top of this framework (another element that reminded me of bluegrass), he kept completely steady and cool, with forceful movements that seemed to come from his whole body. The poly rhythms of some of the songs in the second set became so infectious that I could not possibly keep my seat any longer. My neighbor and I looked at each other, and in one of those rare moments of perfect understanding between strangers, we stood and practically ran to the aisle where we danced the rest of the show. Later our fast and excited voices would find names and words, our hands would clasp in formal greeting, and we would do all those things that strangers do in our culture. But for the moment mouths were for grinning and our arms for dancing.

What a night!

Entomology and the Workout Mix

2010-02-09T19:17:00.000-08:00

An hour and approximately 18 minutes and 23 seconds ago I stepped outside and glared at the sky, a dull gray featureless shroud incessantly spitting cold wet misery. I squinted my eyes shut and grumbled my way across the parking lot, pulling the hood of my dirty white coat close around my face to try and take the bite out of the wind. I passed several other Eskimos on my way, also bundled up tight. Their backs were just as hunched, their faces as scrunched as my own, but I felt no kinship with them. We played tug-of-war with Ohio, each of us trying to hold our warmth close into ourselves against forces that would suck it away. Why did I leave my room? When will this snow stop? Karmi says it's going to snow all week. What am I doing?

Five minutes ago I stepped out a different door, into a different snowfall, a different Ohio. I saw the snow catching in the lamplight as I crunched my boot into the sidewalk, and I had to take off my headphones. I stopped to listen to the muffled stillness of heavy snowfall, the odd way that snow sounds are simultaneously dampened and amplified, and the crunch of my boots into the soft white. Flakes clumped together and swirled gently down through the yellow glow, a few of them drifting to rest on my upturned cheeks, and I let them linger until they melted on my skin. I sucked a lungfull of brisk air into my nose and let it bite before blowing a misty cloud around my face. I paused under that tree at the corner of North Quad, the one with the twisted branches, and admired every sparkling twig. For the first time since it started snowing this Friday, I looked at the clean softness of Oberlin in February and smiled. Though I'll still never be a Northern girl at heart, for now, Ohio, you are beautiful.

What is the source of this dramatic difference in perspective? I went to the gym. Why does an hour of sweating, rock music, and moderate pain make you feel so fantastic? I do not know. But I like it.

Other Questions:
-Why are my "Angry" and "Workout" playlists interchangeable?
-What should my new Workout Mix be?
-How can I get a cardio workout in my room every time I need to go outside?
-WHEN WILL IT STOP SNOWING?

So obviously I am back at school. I should have known when Daniel and I drove through a literal blizzard getting here that it would be a shock to my sensitive southern system. Still took me by surprise.

Enough about the weather.

A lot has happened in my life recently, and some of it is awesome. I moved into Keep co-op. That's one of the awesome things. Oberlin co-ops are student run cooperative houses, where everyone in the house has a house job (like cleaning showers or stocking toilet paper), and people take turns cooking and cleaning up the kitchen. Because all decisions are made by consensus, people living here feel real ownership and pride in the quality of the house and take care of it (and each other). I love the community here, it is very supportive, and the energy is palpable. Right now I am missing a jam session in the lounge to write to you (that's ok though, because there will be another one tomorrow. And probably the night after that, and the night after that...). All the food so far has been vegan and delicious. I've had at least ten vegan orange ginger spice cookies in the last two days. My room mate, Karmi, is awesome, she wants to be an entomologist (study bugs, yeah I looked it up) and bee keeper. She brought an art book with her that is full of beautiful drawings of shells and jellyfish, and when I came in to meet her she was listening to one of my favorite albums. We sang in harmony before we knew each others names, I think that's a good sign. Our room is very welcoming, and stocked with tea and chocolate (hint hint visit me).

In other news, I recently turned 21, or "twenty-fun" as Helena likes to say. I have celebrated this about five times, with another party planned this weekend (The Feve, Saturday night for you Obies, everyone is invited).

Highlights of Turning Twenty Fun
-playing a bright green aluminum upright bass with a string band
-getting tipsy enough to be the only ones dancing in the bar and not care
-inviting the bartender to "surprise me"
-toasting to things like "seventh chords" and "indulgent aunts"
-being at a show where yelling "yeehaw" is completely appropriate

So that whole class thing, which goes along with the whole Ohio thing, means I have to go do homework. Then hopefully I can get some of that sleep stuff, which I hear is pretty great.

I hope you are doing so much better than well and fine and ok. Hugs all around. Write me a comment.

XOXO
Erin

Sushi as Road Fare

2010-01-24T19:07:00.000-08:00

Day 3 or 4. Sorry, I know this is all over the place

I'm here in Sara's house in Austin, TX, and I feel like I'm back at Oberlin, plugging away in the Robertson practice rooms. Upstairs trumpet blasts from Miki and Mr. Sasaki's rooms compete for dominance over the delicate strains of Sara's violin. She's splitting time between Stravinsky and Skaggs (Ricky, that is). I think if I wasn't myself occupying (kinda practicing in) the piano room Mrs. Sasaki would be at it as well. I half expect a tour of prospies to peer through the door as the tour guide brags about practice rooms and steinways and something called "internal climate control." It's a nice feeling, being enveloped in so much music, I always wondered what it would be like to grow in a house full of musicians. The overlapping strains are surprisingly comforting. Occasionally dissonant, mostly welcoming, like Austin itself.

I asked someone in the Houston airport yesterday where in Austin I could go to hear good live music on a week night. Apparently that question is akin to "where is there air" in Austin. The young man could only stare at me in disbelief, but my neighbor, who'd been listening, helpfully piped up: everywhere!

They were right.

We pulled all the stops--
(SIDE NOTE: Did you know the phrase "pulling all the stops" comes from pipe organs, because you have to pull the stops out to get the bigger pipes to resonate? Well now you do.)
--performing for Austin crowds. Because live music is such a regular part of their diet we had to bring every ounce of energy left over from travel to the stage. Getting such a cool (carefully avoiding the term jaded, oops I just said it) audience to clap, sing, and yell with us was a challenge, but Helena loves a challenge. By the end of our first show, she got the whole house on their feet, and even if they didn't sing or dance I like to think they were tapping the toes of their hearts.

The other challenge was choosing where to go on our night off. 6th street is lined with clubs and music. We would have spent weeks, and all the budget, partaking there if the itinerary let us. The Sasakis sent us on our way with hugs, best wishes, and homemade vegetarian (thank you!) sushi complete with chopsticks (Mrs. Sasaki, like Sara, thinks of everything).

Numbers:
-States: 4
-Hours in the car: 17
-Trucks who honked at us: 13
-Number of times we heard Lady Gaga on the radio: TOO MANY
-"260: How many miles Helena drove while y'all bitches were sleeping" (Helena told me to include that)
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I'm gettin tired. Maybe more about Austin to come? Is anybody reading this?

The thing about Leezard

2010-01-24T17:31:00.000-08:00

(Day Question Mark. When we drove from Dallas to Nashville.)

Helena had the cruise control set high as we flew through the barren purple landscape that is Fate, Texas at six AM.

Somewhere in that line there is a metaphor. I can't decide what it means that we had the cruise control on while driving through Fate. Was she meant to set the cruise control, or did she choose it? Cruise control isn't that hard to get out of either, you just have to tap the break right? That's got to mean something. Does the fact that is was beautiful change anything? What about the cruise control being on 80 or so? Fate zipped by, for sure. Somewhere in there I'm sure there's a lesson about destiny, love, and long journeys, something deep and central. Right?

Hell if I know, I'm just the bass player. Today we saw the sunrise in Texas and the sunset in Tennessee. From the soreness in my abs I'm guessing we spent most of the time between laughing. That and belting out bad pop music with whatever radio stations we could pick up along the way. I would be snobby about the music, except that all three of us knew most of the words. The wonderfully awful "shorty's like a melody in my head that I can't get out" is a melody in my head that I can't get out, right now as I write this. About two cups of coffee and three bawdy jokes into the drive we remembered what we forgot: the ipod adapter. It could have been worse, we could have forgotten Sara's bag of shoes.

Dallas was one of my favorite stops on the tour, mostly because of Mama T. I now know where Helena gets her nurturing side, as well as her prowess in the kitchen. The Thompsons not only warmly welcomed seven hungry (and slightly smelly from the road) college students, all their instruments and nightly jam sessions, and the impressive amount of luggage we spread through every room, into her house; Patricia Thompson also cooked us some of the most delicious southern food I've ever had the pleasure of eating. I am hungry again just thinking about her grits and biscuits. Then there was the high school teen-movie-like sleepover that took place on her floor. From the amount of giggling, inside jokes, and bro love that went on in that room after midnight, you'd swear we were all high in the sky on something illegal. We were just high on Carlos' wonderful/terrible puns really. And Helena's innuendos. And Danny's resemblance to Hunter S. Thompson. And Alex's leezard boots (he's got "good taste, for a yankee" apparently).

From sleeping in that room I learned that:
-One of the gentlemen on our tour, who shall go unnamed, talks in his sleep, occasionally has nightmares about a giant evil butterfly named Mama Coochin, and will never live it down.
-Phantom tickling becomes much more effective after 3 am.
-Helena is the only one of us who isn't ticklish. She is also one of the most merciless ticklers. I believe this is unfair.
-I would rather sleep on Mama T's living room floor with these dorks than in any luxury suite in the world.
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I'll let you in on a secret: I'm writing this from my Dad's upstairs office in Kentucky, ten days after I'm pretending to write it, and two days after my girls left. I wouldn't tell you that, except I wanted to tell you this: the rain is hitting the skylight and I'm listening to 'skip, hop, and wobble' and except for the fact that this cupcake is stale and I'm kinda lonely, things are pretty great. This is the first time I've really heard skip hop wobble all the way through, and I like it a lot. Hymn of ordinary motion is pretty glorious. Just to let you know.

Riley misses you.

2010-01-24T16:51:00.000-08:00

It's Friday afternoon in Kentucky, and I have the stereo turned up full blast to drown out the silence. The house is dull and lifeless now that Helena and Sara have gone back to Texas. My dog, Riley, and I are in perfect agreement on how to feel about this newly empty house. He wandered around all morning sniffing hopefully for his playmates. Eventually he gave up and lumbered over to lay his snout in my lap, with a disgruntled doggy sigh. I can only scratch his ears in agreement. I miss the soft soulful blues of Alex's Martin in the morning, the stomp of Sara's red pumps as she whips off another fiddle tune, the full bodied laughter and shuffle of dancing feet in the kitchen. The house seems to sag on itself with the sudden removal of Helena's strong presence. The only signs that six extra warm bodies recently filled this house are the guitar picks on the piano, and the Blue Moon in the fridge. Well, that and Helena's hair that I just cleaned out of the sink.

I just realized that I sound like a teenager that's just been dumped. I can't help it though, I miss them! It gets even more pathetic; I've been walking around with Helena's pick in my pocket all day. Every now and then I pull it out and rub it absent mindedly. It's worn away at the point from hard strumming, and you can't really read the inscription any more.

Ok, emo fest is over.

So everybody is gone and the question remains: what the hell do I do with the rest of my month?
.
.
.
What the ---- I will do with the rest of my month:
-make lists
-call Sara and Helena on the road, reminisce about tour, sing Cowboy Take Me Away on phone
-drink last Blue Moon at exactly 7:00 pm EST, while they drink other two I put in car kit
-test new recipes
-transcribe bass/banjo and bass/mando duets.
-listen to great records
-get paint on my clothes (and maybe on some canvases too)
-go: to shows, dancing, to my grandma's house to see her orchid which is blooming
-pick and grin
-turn 21. flirt with bartenders. order a white Russian in a bad fake accent while wearing Daniel's faux fur hat.
-reacquaint self with real world. (Hello real world. You suck.)
-wear Sara's cardigan over the clingy clubbing shirt I usually can't wear in public. Miss my Belles some more.

Note: if you are in Louisville, and these sound like things you would like to participate in, you should call me.

The Right Amount of Give: Meditations on Gluten

2010-01-24T16:19:00.001-08:00

I have a very dear pet that I've never told you about. This pet can almost always make me feel better. It goes to school with me in the fall, and comes back to Kentucky in summer. Unlike Riley, it smells great. Also unlike Riley, it only needs to be fed once a week, though it grows faster than any puppy or little boy.

I am talking, of course, about my sourdough starter.

(WARNING: This post may contain snobby bread jargon. Readers cautioned.)

I first attempted sourdough bread because Eugene, who is from San Francisco, needed a little bit of home to come to him. I read everything I could about yeast and flour and the ideal conditions (not a dorm room, turns out) before I was brave enough to take that First Step.

The first step to making sourdough is very complicated:
1.) put some flour in a jar
2.) add some warm water
3.) let sit.

Even that proved a challenge. I had to throw out four trials because they started to mold and stink. The putrid smell of my first failed attempts filled my tiny dorm room and made it hard to hide the surprise from Eugene. ("Hmm, not sure what that smell is, guess I need to do laundry today..." "Why don't we meet at your room?") Finally, I found success with White Lily bread flour, patience, and luck. It was like that country song about how every failed relationship that broke his heart lead to finding the perfect woman, do you know that song? That's how I felt about my starter. When I finally had a one that grew, smelled right, and wasn't green, I felt such an intense satisfaction that the I was completely hooked on the project. This was MY starter, and damnit I was gonna keep it and feed it, and we would make beautiful warm loaves together and live happily ever after.

(Later Eugene would offer to keep the starter in his fridge, as I was moving to a co-op. I politely declined. Or I might have said "hell no.")

Today I need to make some bread. I've already taken my starter out of the fridge and given it with some extra food. It is happily puffing and bubbling into a springy spongy batter. I carefully set aside a bit of this sponge to go back in its jar for later. To the rest: flour flour flour (and some Other Stuff). I work it in the only way that is satisfying, with my hands. When it can ball up without being too sticky, it's time for my favorite part: kneading the ---- out of it. The way I see it, if at the end of this process there is not flour all over myself and this table, I have failed.

I don't appreciate failure.

My favorite kneading technique is the half turn palm push. I like it because I can put all of my body weight, all my frustrations and frazzled energy, directly into the dough, and still keep it balled up completely under my hands. Sometimes the dough pops, which is pretty satisfying. I know this loaf is going to fluffy and soft.

F--- these things which I am frustrated with, which I will now transfer to this innocent loaf:
-the rigidity of con requirements (I had a better phrase for that, instead I pound my phrase into the dough. Take that! The table hits the wall with a thunk)
-uninspired job-track orchestra players
-all the math I have to learn next semester
-complicated relationships
-drama
-job resumes and recommendations
-going through the motions

This dough did not stand a chance. I roll my palm forward decisively. I slam the dough down with confidence. I punch it down again with a brash whoop of triumph. With assurance and bravado I sling flour across the table and roll pound chop until the dough is soft and pliable with just the right amount of give. My fingers know when the dough is done before I do. There's a moment, as you're working the dough, when the consistency changes from tough and resistant to perfectly pliant and cooperative. I pinch a piece and demonstrate yet another therapeutic thing about bread making: the predictability. I know that if I stretch this piece of dough out thin enough to see light through it, and it doesn't break, it is ready to rise. Every time. It stretches-it's ready. Professor Darling says its got something to do with stretching chains of gluten molecules, something like that. I like to think that if you just massage the dough long enough it is coaxed into stretchy supple submission.

There are a few things that could make this more perfect, of course. For one, Danny Kaye could be alive in my kitchen, wearing Grammy's green apron and doing impressions of my least favorite professors. While I'm dreaming, Chris Thile can come over and put those nimble fingers to good use kneading the knots out of my shoulders, crooning mountain ballads in my ears.

Almost perfect.

--MANY HOURS LATER--

So guess who forgot that there was dough rising, and let it quadruple in size? Guess who was looking for things to do three hours ago (coincidentally exactly when the bread should have gone in the oven) and now would like nothing better than to sleep? Guess who shot up in bed and dashed to the kitchen in horror?

Yeah, that would be me.

Oops.

So I forgot about the bread. I think I just wanted to knead it anyways, I'm not really hungry. Still, if I kneaded it I want to bake it, damnit! I'm going to try anyways. This could have several consequences:
-I do not get enough sleep tonight.
-The bread is too sour OR
-the bread takes on a new concentrated sour flavor unlike any loaf I've ever made, and this becomes my new recipe. (hopefully this one)
-Mama stumbles into the kitchen for water, sees me still awake, and makes fun of me for forgetting the bread.
-I fall asleep at the kitchen table and burn the house down.

I'm trying to avoid that last one by writing to you.

APPROXIMATELY THIRTY SEVEN MINUTES TWENTY SECONDS LATER
it is ready. I knocked on the bottom: perfectly hollow. Pressed on the crust: perfectly firm, bubbly yet smooth (it will be chewy). I can tell, the way it popped open and spread out like a lily that it's going to be soft and fluffy inside. It smells like heaven. I wish I could share it with you. No one is even awake to appreciate it right now.

Why am I still awake?

Goodnight.
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Simple Pleasures:
-Billy Joel's 'The Stranger' on vinyl
-black coffee
-blooming orchids
-bread making

And they're off!

2010-01-19T14:06:00.000-08:00

DAY ONE: Airports, Minivans, and Texans, Oh my!

Every time I fly I think about how similar taking off in an airplane is to a great first kiss. First off, it seems like you have to wait forever for it to finally happen. When you start to move you become hyper aware of every nerve in your body. You gather momentum, close your eyes, and no matter how long you've been thinking about it the moment of lift off still takes you by surprise. All the sudden your stomach floats up and you're weightless. You might chance a peek out the little side window and see the world you knew falling away. If you're flying at night, like I was just a few hours ago, you can see the cars and buildings become little pinpricks of light sparkling out of the black as you soar higher. Then when if feels like you'll just float away forever or pop like a bubble, you're back in your body. You're bones flow into the seat and you release the breath you didn't realize you were holding. Finally you settle in, and you're coasting thousands of miles above "g'mornin" and "y'all come back now, y'hear!" You're flying towards someplace new and exciting, maybe a little bit scary, and it's fantastic! Takeoffs are often my favorite part of the journey.

For me, landing is much less like kissing and much more like concentrating on not throwing up on the large man next to me as a baby squeals two rows up because she doesn't like the pressure change. Two bumps and a lurch later I'm grounded, and a soft tired sounding voice crackles on to the intercom. "Welcome to Houston."

Honestly, considering the bumpy landing I just had I'm not too upset that my flight from Houston to Austin is delayed another hour. Now I have time to write to you, and to calm the coffee-salad slush churning in my stomach. It's 9:37 (10:37 where you are, and 7:37 for you), and I am on my way to Adventure, my first ever tour! The Black River Belles take on the southeast this January: Austin, Dallas, Nashville, Columbia, and Louisville. We've decided the tour motto is "kickin ass, takin names." (I kinda thought it should be "love, booze, and other important things" but that didn't have the same ring to it. "Tour" makes this sound a lot more professional than what I think the reality is going to be. Our "bus" is an old minivan, (decorated with window art by yours truly), out hotel the couches, floors, and recliners or our generous friends (and in a pinch the floor of the minivan). We do have roadies though, or at least we have some friends crazy enough to road trip across the country with us. That would be Rue, Danny, Carlos, and Alex.

Oh, I haven't introduced the band! Ok, I'm going to say it just the way Helena always does on stage:
"Allright well, for y'all that weren't here before, we are the Black River Belles, and we're gonna play some music you you tonight (sometimes she says "songs about love, murder, and whiskey" or just "porch songs"). Over here to my right we've got the illustrious Ms. Sara Sasaki on fiddle, from Austin, Texas. Well, clap! (people clap. You can't not listen to Helena). Good. And holding up the low end, Miss Erin Lobb from Louisville Kentucky. (She usually draws out the Lou in Louisville and asks me if she said it right. She never does, but I tell her she did anyway). I'm Helena Thompson, and I hope y'all have as much fun as we're about to. This next one is about murder with a whiskey bottle/spooning/working on a railroad/love in the kitchen."

If my plane ever takes off I will get to see Sara soon. I anticipate an inappropriate amount of giggling and hugging, and I can't wait. What Helena didn't tell you about Sara is that in addition to being a kickass fiddle player, she is also a prolific organizer. She makes the calls, the deals, and the exacting itinerary, and if necessary she makes the Face (the no-nonsense, this is what we agreed to and that's how it's gonna be Face). She is 5 people concentrated into a 5' person (5'1 she'll be quick to tell you. She describes herself as "fun size"). Her knack for details is as exacting as her ear for pitch (she was born with perfect pitch), and though she swears she owns six pairs of jeans, I can't recall ever seeing her in anything but brilliantly colored minidresses.

Flight 1533, that's me! We're boarding now, hopefully they put me next to someone interesting. See you in Austin.

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Spell check thinks "kickass" is not a word. This is incorrect.

An Organizing Mood

2010-01-18T07:18:00.001-08:00

It is a mark of how many cities, couches, and air mattresses I've graced in the last two weeks that as I rose out of sleep this morning I literally had no idea where I was. Without opening my eyes, I took account of my surroundings. I wasn't sinking into a partially inflated air mattress or smelling Mama Ts heavenly southern cooking, and no one was mumbling about giant butterflies, so not Dallas. I didn't hear anyone practicing-no trumpet arpeggios or Bach sonata's from down the hall, so not Sara's house in Austin. I felt like I was in a bed, but Helena's leg wasn't slung over me, in fact I couldn't feel any person-sized warmth on either side, so probably not Nashville. By the time I had run through all the possible permutations of beds and cities, I was awake enough to force my eyelids apart. I was greeted by the bright turquoise walls of my own room in Louisville. Daisyduck, bright yellow with her pink flower hat, stared back at me from approximately where I had expected the person shaped warmth to emanate from. I smiled at her, and at the walls, and the plants on the window sill that my mom has been keeping alive, and for that matter I smiled at my mom, even though if the sun slanting through my windows was any indication she had gone to work hours ago. I was home.

It's been two weeks and five cities since Sara, Helena, and I started on this mad adventure. In all the ways that I'm measuring, the Black River Belles first tour has been a resounding success. No, we haven't made a lot (any?) of money, BUT we've gotten 13 semi trucks to honk at us, Sara has worn all but one of her 23 of her dresses once, we have started a jam session in every city we've visited, we sweet talked our way into the best bluegrass show I've ever seen in my life, Helena has shocked at least 150 people, and the whale joke has been told 7 times. Oh, and we painted a flaming fiddle, crossed bass and guitar necks, a cowgirl in polka dots, and the tour motto (kickin' a**, takin' names) on the old minivan. That sounds like victory to me.

"I was in an organizing mood" says Sara, about how we decided to spend the month of January road tripping and performing across the Southeastern United States. Her "organizing mood" got us gigs in Austin, TX, Dallas, TX, Nashville, TN, Columbia, TN, and my hometown Louisville, KY (and an itinerary that includes details such as "get dressed"). As Helena would say "thank the baby Lord Jeezus!" for Sara's organizing moods. I've had the time of my life, making music, jokes, and "dank" food with some of my favorite people in the whole world.

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I haven't had my computer, so I haven't been able to update you in real time. I kept an old fashioned pen and paper journal though, so I'm gonna type up some of those entries here in the next couple days. Pretend like we're time traveling.

Also: I miss you.

On Dedication: Types and Degrees

2009-11-12T19:51:00.000-08:00

It took passing 2 jocks in fishnets, a guy riding a bike in neon orange short shorts with matching tube socks and pasties, and a girl wearing a shiny dominatrix outfit (as much as a few inch wide straps of pleather can count as an "outfit") complete with chains for me to remember that tonight is Safer Sex Night.

Definition Time! Safer Sex Night is an annual Oberlin celebration of skimpy costumes, loud music, alcohol, and (often) glitter or pleather (because we love the animals). Oberlin students journey to the 'Sco wearing almost nothing in order to celebrate their sexual freedom.

I might add that I was on my way to the library.

It is currently 31 degrees and dropping.

Questions:
Who is more dedicated?
Does Oberlin hold this event in November on purpose?

In other news, I should be working.

I'm not dead.

2009-04-21T08:34:00.000-07:00

B is for Bluegrass.

Other things B is for:
-Badass
-B Major
-Blues
-Bass
-Awesome! Wait, no...

I'm not dead. I'm in fact more alive than I've been in a long time. I do, however, fail at updating you about my life. You'll be happy to know (at least I hope so) that the reason I fail at updating you about my life is because it's been so good lately.

Things in My Life That are Good, in no particular order:
-Music
-Friends, bandmates, and friends that are bandmates
-My wonderful pancake-making, hug-giving, sharp-dancing California Honey
-Environment and Society class. Obies, if you have a chance to take this, do.
-Sunshine. Like peekaboo, today I see you, tomorrow it will snow.

Things I know about Hexachordal Combinatoriality:
-My teacher said this word a couple times in music theory class. No one but me snickered.
-This word is too long.
-Bill Monroe didn't know what this was.
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How the Black River Belles Came to Be -OR- We Were Bored
Me: Hey Sara, you ever played fiddle? Wanna start a band?
Sara: Sure.

Winter in Ohio is a terrible thing. Imagine a LOT of snow that doesn't go away, with no footprints in it because it's too miserably cold to go outside. There is no sun, and everyone is bored. This, incidentally is the perfect condition in which to create a band with your girlfriends.

Black River is actually a creek. It thinks it's a river, so everyone humors it. Many things in Northeast Ohio are named after the Black River and several of them are awesome.

Awesome things named after the Black River:
-Black River Cafe
-Black River Antiques
-Black River Lanes (bowling)
-Black River Pirates (Sullivan, OH high school football team)
-Black River Belles.

So my girls and I started a folk/bluegrass band. It makes me very happy.

We are:
Helena Thompson, on vocals, guitar, beauty, and haircuts
Sara Sasaki, on fiddle, vocals, adorableness, wardrobe, and organization
Erin Lobb, on bass, vocals, and bad jokes.

Places You Might See Belles:
-Agave
-The Cat and the Cream
-Tappan Bandstand
-Science Center Atrium
-Cracker Barrel
-J-House
-Outside your window RIGHT NOW! (haha, you looked)

The Belles are good friends with the Outhouse Troubadours. If fact, Belles love Troubadours so much they gave them a bassist...

Wait that's me!

I also joined an established campus band with some really great pickers and singers to serenade the outhouse. It's a lot of fun:

Every now and then I scream "I LOVE MUSIC!" in complete seriousness and sobriety. At least 7 people agree with me.

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Here's a link to download a recording of the April 19th show the Outhouse Troubadours played at the Cat in the Cream (with me on bass!):
http://www.mediafire.com/?sharekey=7b5bd021150ab69391b20cc0d07ba4d2a6f24f56d5aa9e8d

In Other News:
-I got eggs from under a chicken, and they were warm! She pecked at me!
-The tulip trees are beautiful.
-Thunder Over Louisville was last weekend. Daniel stole me an official No Stopping-Special Event sign. I knew I liked that kid.
-It was great to see my family last weekend. Now-back to work!

Illusions

2009-01-11T12:42:00.000-08:00

Last night I watched a 3D movie without 3D glasses. The movie was my life. I saw my world in one piece, normal and together. First I was walking alone on a path. As I walked the scenery started to change with increasing rapidness, mostly between different places I've lived or spent a lot of time, like I was inside a television whose channels kept flipping. Sometimes there were other people on the path, but they weren't there for very long.

Then things started to separate. Everything around me dissolved into its double picture the way 3D illusions do when you take off the glasses and look with just your eyes. Everything was doubled, but not just doubled exactly. It was as if there were multiple overlapping versions of the same thing. It was all moving and overlapping and sometimes I could see the insides of things...it was very confusing. Then suddenly I knew. I knew, the way you just know things in dreams without knowing why you know them, that this was the way the world really was. The pieces I glimpsed underneath everything were the real truth, and the togetherness I usually saw was just an illusion.

As I started to surface from my dream this morning I still believed it was real. Before I opened my eyes, I thought I could choose which version I was going to see today.

I couldn't decide.
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I'm writing to you from northern Ohio. It's very cold, and has been snowing persistently for a few days now. Someone, I don't know who, has made an igloo outside my dorm. Maybe they're in there.

I'm in an orchestra this month. We're playing:
Mahler's 1st symphony
Beethoven's 4th piano concerto
Huang Ruo (an Oberlin alum) Hanging Cliffs

Rehearsal is going well, and even our terrifying conductor seems pleased. The Huang Ruo, however, is a disastrous mess of sloppy writing and painful dissonance. Luckily it's a premier, so no one will know whether or not it's really supposed to sound that terrible (it is) and everyone will be afraid to appear old-fashioned by criticizing it. After the disaster that is Hanging Cliffs, however, the remaining audience members are in for a real treat. The Mahler is frightening, glorious, funny, tragic, and heroic at once. The Beethoven concerto is the sort of beautiful that can only be described in musical form, and pianist/professor Angela Cheng gives her interpretation to each listener like a loving gift between intimate friends. If every audience member does not have a musicgasm by the end of this concert it will not be our fault.

I'm enjoying the peace and quiet in my little northern hideaway. I think I probably have a few neighbors left in the dorm, but I haven't seen them. Sara and I have been cooking up plans and rich food, and are very excited about the possibilities once our singer is healthy again and we've bought more buttermilk. The snow is more pristine than it is allowed to be when 3000+ people live and work here, and the top layer has crystalized and reflects the sun as I look out my window. My bike is frozen again, but I find I don't need or want to go anywhere that a leasurely walk can't take me. I am quite content, and as always remain

yours,
Erin
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For an amusing video of composer Huang Ruo explaining his Great Vision for "Hanging Cliffs," see:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XO1wqQNVPXY

Conclusions

2008-10-29T13:31:00.000-07:00

So I'm trying to decide whether or not today was a good day. As you may know, every decision in my life involves lists. Let's take a moment to compare:

Today Sucked, Winter Sucks, Ohio Sucks, and School Also Sucks (and I Hope Tomorrow Is Better, Though I doubt it):
-It snained, slushed, and hit me with ice balls. And it's cold. And grey.
-I lost my ID card and keys.
-Five minutes before class I remembered to do my Aural Skills homework.
-Music Theory and Aural Skills. Must we really? 9 semesters? Really?
-I have way too much to do and I'm stressed out.
-Freshmen Composition Module Concert.
-I'm nervous about a favor I agreed to do for a friend that involves me being hypnotized in a circus show.
-I didn't get to go to the lecture I really wanted to go to on the neurobiology of decision making.

Today Was Awesome! I Love Going to Oberlin, it's So Pretty and Everyone is So Nice! WOoh Exclamation Points!!1!1!one!!
-Snow!
-Sara found my ID card and keys and gave them back to me.
-Freshmen Composition Module Concert (Eugene played Graham's piece)
-I put together my Halloween costume: I'm going to be a Southern Belle! (I think the fact that I'm just wearing the clothes I wore on Derby day last year/what I wear to every contra dance undermines my protests when Graham and Eugene point out that I am already a Southern Belle.)
-The theatre department had a costume sale.
-I got a package from home! Containing: love. (Also a "Someone in Louisville Loves Me" t-shirt, and candy/baking supplies)
-I have a pumpkin to carve tomorrow!
-Swing Class was awesome, we learned the "rock-step down clap step step snap ba-dum."

When I first wrote these lists, right after aural skills, I was going to conclude that the only conclusions I can draw here are that I am too busy. I've since decided that today was an wonderful day. This is because I am now factoring in some pretty awesome wild cards.

Reasons Why No Matter What Goes Wrong It's All Right:
-You.

To my family back home: Hope things are going well, I miss you, don't worry I'll call soon,
love,
Erin

The Smug Blue Rooster

2008-08-12T14:42:00.000-07:00

Last night I met a beautiful Spaniard. Santiago was his name, and I shall never forget his eyes: dark, mysterious- and wide with fear and surprise.

You see I- uh- well... I threw a shoe at him.

It was an accident! I was dancing with the tall red-bearded fellow who always lifts me in the air when we swing, and my shoes kept falling off. I had 2 1/2 beats between my do-si-do and balance-and-swing. I'd planned it during the last allemande: in the next free moment I would gently kick off my shoes to the side of the set and dance the rest barefoot.

No sweat.

Of course anyone who knows me knows I rarely do anything "gently." The thud with which the second shoe hit the wall (three feet from Santiago's beautiful head and about 15 feet from the other shoe) was startlingly audible over the 13 piece band, 60 dancing people's stomps, and frequent raucous "yee-haws!" As Red-Beard lifted me off the ground he laughingly remarked that he'd never had a partner try and kill anyone in the middle of a dance before.

My flush at that moment cannot be attributed entirely to the exercise.

The "kicker" was getting the shoes back. The first was in a corner by the door. The second posed more of a challenge. I made brief eye-contact with my near-victim as I bent to pick up my worn out red flat. Keren is of the oppinion that the next thing I said to Santiago-the-beautiful-spaniard qualifies as a pick-up line. I disagree. You be the judge.

"Sorry about that. You know, I promise I didn't throw a shoe at you to ask you to dance but...would you like to dance?"

That's totally not a pick-up line. Right? Right?!

So we danced. Either Mr. Beautiful-Eyes was traumatized by his near-disfigurement, he has a jealous girlfriend he doesn't want to cross, or he's just naturally very shy (hence his position in a chair in the path of my shoe). Regardless, he was quiet through the last dance, and we ended the night with a rather tame but well coordinated swing.

I laughed all the way home.

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Today I saw a terrible painting by a wonderful painter. The proportions were off, the brushstrokes haphazard, the eyes looked creepily asymmetrical, inhuman and cold, and the light was confusing. My primary reaction: inspiration. If Mary Cassatt, one of my favorite painters, can produce something like this, then I figure it's ok when my paintings are terrible.

I went to the SPEED museum with my mom today. Did you know we have a Chagall there? It's pretty cool too, with the characteristic bright yellow cow, smug blue rooster, and busty bride floating over a red and purple village clutching bright yellow and red flowers. I've never seen a Chagall in anything but books before, and I kinda expected the paint to have more texture. The strokes seemed meticulous and deliberate, not at all what I was expecting. There was also a Cezanne still life of (what else) apples, some Matisse line prints (naked women), a Monet view of a cathedral in Normandy, and a beautiful still life of peaches and raspberries that made me so hungry I had to leave. Overall a successful trip.

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Only two more days till I go to California!

Wish

2008-08-05T20:02:00.000-07:00

Today I did not write any papers. I did not work, and I did not make any effort to look nice. I did not go anywhere, I did not put on shoes, and I did not get up early.

I did, however:

sleep in
wear my ratty (read: well loved) multicolored, funny-collared paint smock with entertaining silver snaps
play bass
eat black raspberry chip ice cream
wipe Prussian Blue and Yellow Ochre on my legs and smock

Did I mention the part where I LOVE SUMMER?

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Wish
12x16, Acrylics, fingerpaint + brushes
8/5/08
Fender
7x9, acrylics
(for Eugene)
7/21/08
Calm Before The Storm
7x9, acrylics
7/30/08

Sparkles

2008-08-04T13:30:00.000-07:00

I’m haphazard about most things, but when it comes to choosing books I am meticulous to the point of obsession. When I go to the bookstore with my mother, she knows me well enough to plan for more hours than seem sensible, and when the critical decision has been made I can always find her patiently engulfed in one of the overstuffed chairs in the history section. For all my careful combing through summaries and frustrated flips through first chapters, though, it seems that somehow the book I need to read always finds me when I need to read it. It’s a very rare favorite that finds me by my own careful choosing. The latest in this string of necessary books only ended up on my bedside table because as I halfheartedly meandered through the overflowing aisle of Book and Music Exchange I happened to see sparkles on the spine (and happened to be intrigued by sparkles, and happened to be feeling impulsive).

The title of the following list was going to be Books That I Needed to Read, Which You Might Also Enjoy For Your Own Personal Reasons, which is a really terrible title and too long anyways. Besides, once I made the list, it was clearly a list of-

Books to Empower (anger, touch, and ignite) Young and Old Women:

The Awakening, by Kate Chopin
The Secret Garden, by Frances Burnett
Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte
Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood (whoever borrowed that from me, I want it back)
Little Women, Louisa May Alcott
Girl With the Pearl Earring, Tracy Chevalier (also Virgin Blue and The Lady and the Unicorn)
The Painted Kiss, by Elizabeth Hickey-the book that inspired this blog and list. It details the affair of Gustav Klimt (who painted The Kiss and Judith and the Head of Holofernes) and Emilie Floge, as Emilie grows from a naïve young art student to one of the most important independent women in Europe. I’m not done yet. If the ending’s terrible, this entry will be edited. (The ending was a little anticlimactic, but it's still a good read. That's the problem with historical novels I suppose: you already know the ending.)

Please add to, rip apart, and denounce this list in comments, and as always, I'm thinking of you.

Yours,
Erin
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Panna Cotta*
(Inspired by St. Antons near the convent in Arrezzo)

3 tablespoons water
1 tablespoon powdered gelatin
4 cups heavy cream
1/2 vanilla bean, split lengthwise
(or approx. 1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract)
1/2 cup sugar
Mixed berries

Satin Chocolate Sauce:
2 ounces unsweetened chocolate
4 1/2 ounces semisweet chocolate
1/4 cup light corn syrup
1/3 cup hot water

In a small bowl, combine the water and gelatin and let soak about 10 minutes (don't stir). Meanwhile, in a medium saucepan, heat the cream, vanilla and sugar to a simmer over medium heat, stirring occasionally to dissolve the sugar. As soon as it simmers, turn off the heat and add the gelatin mixture, stirring to dissolve the gelatin. (If the gelatin doesn't completely dissolve after awhile, return the mixture to the heat and warm gently until dissolved.) Pour the mixture into 6 to 8 dessert cups (or muffin cups in a muffin pan..a muffin pan, a muffin pan).
(If you want honey almond panna cotta, fill the bottom of the cups with honey before adding the cream and chilling. The honey ones stay together better if you chill them longer, maybe overnight)

Chill, uncovered, 2 hours.

Satin Chocolate Sauce: In the top half of a double boiler, combine the 2 chocolates over simmering water. Stir constantly until melted, then whisk in the syrup and water without removing the double boiler from the heat. Whisk until smooth and shiny. The sauce can be made up to 24 hours in advance and refrigerated. To rewarm, stir over low heat or heat in a microwave.

To serve , dip the cups in hot water for 10 seconds, then turn the panna cottas out onto dessert plates (or, serve in the cups). Arrange the berries on top and drizzle with the chocolate sauce.

(option: instead of the chocolate sauce put two tsp honey in the bottom of each mold before adding the cream and refrigerating, then top with honey and toasted chopped hazelnuts or almonds.)

La Cucina di Paola

2008-07-30T15:49:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned, in Arezzo I lived with the foxy babes in the nunnery. Of course, I love my convent girls, and I'm not implying that I don't. But listen to this: my friend Marcelo lived with an Italian family near the train station. Marcelo liked to complain about the fact that, living with this family, he did not get to eat out with the group very often- because the mother cooked traditional Italian breakfast and dinner in the house for him. Every day. From scratch.

Obviously at that point I took Marcelo's drink and biscotti from him. Then I told him about the convent.

He didn't complain about his living arrangements any more after that.

He did, however, bring me to dinner one evening. That was when I met Paola, Goddess of Kitchens and Sass.

From the confident slant of her hips as she proffered the serving bowl, to the grin which met the moans of pleasure at her mushroom penne in wine sauce, it was evident that Paola was a woman who knew exactly how to wield her feminine power, and did. She quickly arranged everyone at the table to her liking and decided who would have the privilege of fetching the bread with the cool nonchalance of someone used to being obeyed. When she entered the room I no longer wondered at the boldly colored modern art prints, the safari patterned pillows and strange trinkets dancing along her shelves. In fact, my only question at that moment, which I have no shame in relaying was: 'how do I become this woman.'

Step 1: Cook Like a Goddess
It was surprisingly easy to get Paola to reveal her culinary secrets to me. I shyly asked after her recipe for ragu, which, if the raptures with which Marcelo described it are any indication, is more than edible. (the recipe is included in the list below) Once she started rolling, excitement building as she shared her passion, there was no stopping her. Her daughters were sent running in and out of the kitchen, not for recipe books, since everything was streaming straight out of Paola's head, but for the italian-english dictionary. The rest of the table never had their mouths empty long enough to throw more than the shortest affirmatives on the exchange.

Many minutes, a writing cramp, and several flips through the dictionary later, I was left with these fine gems of the culinary arts, scrawled and heavily corrected in my Italian notebook. I now present them to you, so that you too can make offering to Paola at her stovetop alter.

*stars (and suggestions) denote recipes I've tested since returning to the states. Untested recipes have notes.

If you figure out how to put these recipes in the post so you click on the post if you want to see them and everyone else doesn't have to scroll, drop me an email or comment here. Also, if you try any of the recipes in this blog I'd love it if you'd comment and tell me how it worked, and if you did anything different with it. Happy Cooking!

Fettuccini Alfredo*

18 ounces fresh fettuccine
2 1/2 cups heavy cream
1/2 cup fresh lemon juice
12 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 cups grated Parmesan
2 teaspoons grated lemon zest
ground nutmeg to taste
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Cook the pasta in a large pot of boiling salted water until tender but still firm to the bite, stirring occasionally, and drain.

Stir 2 cups of the cream and the lemon juice in a heavy large skillet to blend. Add the butter and cook over medium heat just until the butter melts, stirring occasionally, about 3 minutes. Remove from the heat.

Add the pasta and toss. Add the remaining 1/2 cup of cream, and Parmesan to the cream sauce in the skillet. Add the lemon zest, nutmeg, salt, and pepper. Toss the pasta mixture over low heat until the sauce thickens slightly, about 1 minute.

Optional: Saute veggies in butter and toss with pasta before serving. Maybe sweet snap peas, asparagus, or peppers.

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Tiramisu*

8, with yolks and whites separated
1/3 cup sugar
1 pound mascarpone cheese
1 cup heavy cream
2 cups cooled espresso
2/3 cup brandy (or rum)
30 lady fingers
2 ounces grated bittersweet chocolate
cocoa powder

Mix the sugar into the egg yolks. Add a little mascarpone at a time to the egg yolk mixture, and mix until smooth. Set aside.

In a separate bowl, beat the whipping cream until stiff peaks form. Set this aside as well.

In another bowl, beat the egg whites until stiff peaks form. (start whipping on high right away, else the eggs won't form peaks no matter what you do)

Fold the whipped cream into the egg yolk mixture, then fold in the beaten egg whites.

Put the espresso and alcohol in a bowl so you can dip the lady fingers.

If you want, you can layer the cream in the bottom first. Paola likes to put the lady fingers in first though, cause it's prettier. So, dip the ladyfingers in the espresso/alcohol mix, (quickly so they're coated but not soggy!). Layer them on the bottom of the pan, and sread the cream on top. repeat until you have as many layers as you want with cream on top. Top with grated chocolate and cocoa power. Enjoy.
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Basil and Pine Nut Pesto*

2 cups packed fresh basil leaves
2 cloves garlic
1/4 cup pine nuts
2/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
1/2 cup freshly grated Pecorino cheese, or Parmesan

Combine the basil, garlic, and pine nuts in a food processor and pulse until coarsely chopped. Add oil and process until fully incorporated and smooth. Season with salt and pepper. Stir in cheese.
(options: substitute some fresh tarragon for some of the basil, by preference.)
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Tomato-Basil Bruschetta*
(not from Paola's kitchen, but keeping with her almost reverent attitude towards fresh basil)

1 (32-ounce) can whole tomatoes, drained
1 cup fresh basil leaves, washed and spun dry
4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 cloves garlic, peeled, plus a couple more
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 large French baquettes, sliced 1-inch thick (about 36 slices)
1 1/2 pounds fresh mozzarella cheese, sliced 1/4-inch thick

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.

In the bowl of a food processor, add drained tomatoes, 1 cup basil leaves, olive oil and 2 cloves garlic. Pulse until smooth, but somewhat chunky. Season with salt and pepper.

On a baking sheet, line up baguette slices. Toast in oven until light golden brown. Remove from oven and rub peeled garlic cloves on the toasted side of each slice, then lay a piece of mozzarella on top. Place bread back in oven and melt cheese slightly. Remove from oven and spread one tablespoon of the tomato mixture on each piece.

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Paola's Famous Ragu (untested, but heartily and unanimously recommended by all at Paola's table)

1 lb sausage
1 lb ground beef
olive oil
whole garlic cloves
(optional thinly sliced carrots and celery)

Cook the olive oil, garlic, and carrots in a pan for about 2-3 minutes. add the meat and cook until brown.

Boil water, drop in 6 whole tomatoes and cook for about 5 minutes.

Take the tomatoes out and remove the skin. Slice, and add to the meat.

Add fresh basil and salt/pepper to taste.

Check Your Neck

2008-07-29T20:45:00.001-07:00

Our numbers are growing. The first time I went, I was rather shy about the whole thing, but was put at ease when I saw a friend from high school there. The next week, a few more trickled in, and word started to spread. When people began bringing their families, that's when the whole thing really took hold. I'm optimistic about this summer's initiates, and I think our the group will continue to grow and take in new members.

No, I have not joined a cult. It's even better than that. I am now one of the few folks in town who plan the week around Monday nights, own more than three garmets made predominately of crinoline, and shop for dresses based on twirl circumference. I am a Louisville Country Dancer (see also: SUPERCOOL).

MONDAY NIGHTS-contra dancing, with live music, live callers, and *twirling*
7:30 beginner lessons 8:00-11(ish) dance
Church of the Advent on Baxter (near Bardstown Rd)

(I hear you get a +10 circumstance bonus to Cool every time you do-si-do)

I'm rediscovering the charms of Louisville (Also, the charms of a to-do list that includes napping). It really is a beautiful city. I didn't realize that until I left, I think. I've been reconnecting with my friends from high school, and spending a lot of time with my wonderfully crazy family (mostly cause they feed me). This weekend my whole family, cousins, aunts, uncles, and Grammy included, are going out to Cumberland Falls. Agenda for the weekend includes:
-catching lightning bugs, (and covertly handing them to my mother by getting her to "hold this for me")
-telling campfire stories (that make my brother easier to frighten later in the night)
-eating s'mores till there is chocolate all over my face
-convincing my youngest female cousin that she snores louder than any of the dads
-making up our own constellations and telling stories about them
-making sure mom is not so distracted watching birds that she walks off a cliff
-stockpiling memories to last through Fall semester.

In other news:

Daniel's home, finally. Because his nicknames at GSP included Heart-Throbb Lobb, and his facebook now consists of 500 pictures of him and "some girl" grinning at the camera, I've taken it as my solemn duty to call him "squirt" and ruffle his hair as much as possible. He loves it. Amazingly, despite the fandom he's gathered because of his music and stunning good looks (it runs in the family), he's returned home without the huge ego you would expect in a 17 year old heart-throb. He even let his dumpy old sister take him out for brunch! He's written some new very creative songs that would be a pleasure to listen to even if I didn't get to say "that's my brother!" Still, I can't help it if a little irony leaks into my voice when I suggest that you "check out his MySpace."

From August 15th to the 21st I'm going to be an honorary dudette in the surf capital of the world, Santa Cruz, California! I'm visiting my Oberlin friends, Graham and Eugene. Oh, and I get to hang out on the beach and go to San Francisco. You know, everyday stuff....Ok, not gonna lie, I'M SO STOKED! Or is that "I'm hella psyched, dude!"? I'm also hoping to get some surf lessons while I'm there, although Daniel has prepped me not to be dissappointed if I fail spectacularly. He seems to doubt my natural grace. Considering my agility walking and remaining upright on solid ground, and my love of rocking boats and churning waves, I'm sure I will have no problem balancing on a moving board that looks, to great white sharks, like a plump seal. Yeah I know, you don't need to give me that look. There's a bet involved, is part of it. Also, though, I'd like to give it a try. It seems as "california" as hippies and avocados, and I want to say I got the full experience.

Anything else I should try to do in the San Francisco/Santa Cruz area?

I promise I'm going to post some Italy stories soon, I just haven't gotten around to it yet. And no JeNie, it's not because I'm figuring out which parts to tell you about, either. At least, that's not all of it (jk, mom).

Give yourselves big hugs from me, and give me a call if you're in town,

yours,
Erin

-------------------------------------------------
Contributed by Mr. Jeff Foxworthy:

You Might Be a Redneck If....

. . . on Thanksgiving Day you have to decide which pet to eat.

. . . your idea of high-quality entertainment is a six-pack and a bug-zapper.

. . . you think the last words to The Star Spangled Banner are “Gentlemen, start your engines.”

. . . you’ve ever been to a wedding reception at the Waffle House.

. . . your dog has ever brought home something that you cooked for dinner.

. . . you’ve ever hollered, “Rock the house, Bubba!” during a piano recital.

. . . your kids’ favorite bedtime story is “Curious George and the High Voltage Fence.”

. . . your favorite restaurant has a gas pump in front and the word “eats” anywhere in the name.

. . . your baby’s crib mobile is made out of beer cans.

. . . your wife has a set of earrings that you use as a fishing lure.

. . . your chili’s secret ingredient comes from a bait shop.

. . . there is more carpet on your toilet than on your floors.

. . . your mailing address includes the word “holler.”

. . . your favorite fishing lure is TNT.

. . . you tell Grandpa he has something in his teeth and he takes them out to see.

. . . there is a trophy in your house with the word “spitting” on it.

. . . you think the stock market has a fence around it.

. . . your flashlight holds more than four batteries.

. . . you own a flamingo with buckshot holes in it.

. . . your favorite mixed drink includes Yoo-Hoo.

. . . there are four pairs of pants and two squirrels hanging from your clothesline.

. . . your local newspaper has a front-page feature called “Cow of the Week.”

. . . you’ve ever committed a crime with a lawn mower.

. . . your bridal veil was made of window screen.

. . . your favorite cologne is Deep Woods Off.

. . . you think safe sex means putting on the emergency brake.

. . . you use old auto parts as a boat anchor.

. . . you have an above ground pool and you fish in it.

. . . your doghouse and your living room both have the same shag carpet.

. . . you think fast food is hitting a deer at 65 mph.

. . . you save cooking grease in a coffee can.

. . . you have ever tried to use food stamps to mail a watermelon.

. . . your spring wardrobe mostly involves using scissors.

The Good Stuff.

2008-07-22T20:20:00.000-07:00

(What I'm about to say is going to sound incriminating, so let me premise it with: I was making tiramisu.)

So I was cleaning out Dad's liqueur cabinet last night, looking for brandy, when I found a very curious artifact. It stands about 1 1/5 feet tall, fat and practical, with murky green glass dirty with dust and handprints. When I hold it to the light, I can make out the dark outline of more than a gallon (but about half capacity) of liquid. The red screw-on cap still has an orange clearance tag on it ($14.40), and agrees with the brittle paper label that this is a jug of "soft red wine." I'm more inclined to believe the second label, however, which is handwritten (Nana's writing?) on masking tape. It says only "Good Stuff, 2-10-00."

I feel like the punchline to one of those "you might be a redneck if..." jokes.

After a cautious whiff (my sinuses are now clear) I believe the Good Stuff is either straight bourbon whiskey cured in somebodies basement, or pure Kentucky moonshine. I don't know why, but this strikes me as very funny. Every time I look at the jug (now proudly displayed on the kitchen table) I giggle a little bit. Not sure which is funnier, the fact that we have such a jug, or the fact that we don't have half its contents.

I know I've been terrible about posting. I'm gonna catch up, I swear! After all, I haven't got much better to do. Not that I'm bored! You know I love being home. It's just not as active as I'm used to being in Obieland. Anyways, yes, expect updates soon, one with Italy stories, and one with "since I've been home" stories (most of which involve dancing and food).

Briefly Since I've Been Home:

My brother has called a few times. I think I can count on my fingers the sentences we've exchanged. He's perfected the "hi-gotta go" routine to a T. He seems to be having a blast though. He's taking astronomy and some class about Bob Dylan and activism in the 60s. If we gave him the choice, I don't know if he'd ever come home. Fortunately, I'm not giving him a choice. I'll be there that last Friday, whether he likes it or not, and we're getting pie, damnit!

"Long lines, go forward and back, swing your partner on the side of the set!"
Music to this girls ears, such wonderful words had not been spoken to me for six weeks, can you believe it?! Apparently they don't contra dance much in Italy. Go figure. Since I've been home, I've been seizing every opportunity to get dizzy and wear out the soles of my shoes.

New Recipes for alfredo sauce (with nutmeg and lemon), tiramisu, tomato-basil-garlic bruschetta, and Ragu to be posted soon!

I miss you.

XOXO
Erin

--------------------------------------------------
"Nonsense, you don't miss me. You just miss my Derby pie, is all."

Derby Pie
Preheat oven to 325
Mix:
1 c. sugar
1/2 c. flour
2 eggs
1 stick butter
1 tsp vanilla
1 c. pecans
1 bag semi-sweet chips
Pour into crust.
Bake approximately 45 minutes, until it's just starting to turn golden brown, and there's a nice sugary buttery crust on top. (To keep the crust from burning you can cover the pie with a foil pie dish with a mug-size circle cut out the center.)
Enjoy.

(yeah, it really is that easy. I'm holding my chili recipe though.)

The All Important Food Post

2008-06-12T09:04:00.001-07:00

Gelato Flavors I’ve Tried So Far:
• Pistachio
• Coffee
• Mint chocolate
• strawberry
• peach
• apricot/pear
• nutella
• cherry
• chocolate
• tiramisu
• hazelnut
• lemon
• yogurt

Favorite Flavors:
• pistachio
• coffee
• mint chocolate
• strawberry
• peach
• apricot/pear
• nutella
• cherry
• chocolate
• tiramisu
• hazelnut
• lemon
• yogurt

I’m mostly kidding. Pistachio, coffee, nutella, lemon, hazelnut, peach, and apricot/pear are the best so far.

To Try Next:
• Raspberry
• Banana
• Caramel chocolate
• Orange
• Blackberry
• Vanilla

The best gelaterio in Arezzo is on the corner about two blocks from the train station. In addition to supplying possibly the most delicious dessert I’ve ever put in my mouth, the people who work there are wonderfully kind and patient. The man who owns the shop knows us now, and is coming to our concerts! Sometimes he refuses to take money for the gelato, just smiling and shaking his head. He doesn’t seem to mind ugly Americans hanging around his store.

Subjects Unrelated to Food:

I have a bass now! It’s a pretty nice bass, too. It’s carved and has a rich sound, even though it’s brighter than my bass at home. The action’s really high, but I figure that will be like practicing baseball with a donut on your bat. You know those weights you put around the end of your bat to swing, and then when you take it off in the game your swing is so much stronger? Maybe my hands will be stronger when I get back to the states? Hopefully? Please? Anyway, it’s not that big a deal. The bigger deal is the fact that I still don’t have a stool. Hopefully Mr. Vitek will come through on that, but I don’t hold high hopes.

Daniel, you’d be so proud of me! I watched a whole soccer game that you weren’t in, and I didn’t even crack a book! I even got to watch the game from the steps of a medieval church! A few nights ago some of the girls from the convent decided it would be an interesting cultural experience to watch the Italy/Netherlands soccer game (Euro championship?) in a pizza bar with Italians. As we’re heading to the bar, we hear what sounds like a very large, very excited mob. As we get deeper into the old city the noise gets louder, until finally we turn a corner and almost plow straight into a giant TV screen. The soccer game is being projected on both sides of this screen at the edge of the old square, drive-in movie style, and hundreds of Italians are running back and forth with drinks, or sitting with their gelato, waiting for the game to start. The excitement is palpable. Once the game began, it became surprisingly quiet, adding drama to the drawn out “NoOOO!”s and cheering that startled pigeons from their roosts with disgruntled squawks that were lost in the din.

Apparently soccer is a big deal in Italy.

Between the contagious excitement and several bottles of vino rosso, our group was shouting “Forza Italia!” right along with the Italians. It was a great night.

My roommate, M, who plays bassoon, turned 20 yesterday. To celebrate, the city of Arezzo held a parade in her honor. A small group of us were sitting in a fancy restaurant, eating pizza and pasta (and other delicious things staring with p), when we heard this loud emphatic drumming. The drumming was quickly followed by the sound of clanging church bells (from the cathedral tower), and crowd sounds. Looking out the window of the restaurant, we can see the first drummers in their bright green medieval garb (complete with multicolored tights) march by. The waiter explains that these are the marchers and dignitaries involved in the Jousting festival, doing a practice run/parade around the city. We rushed out of the restaurant and stood on the stoop to watch the parade go by. There were little kids strutting around in medieval uniforms carrying family flags. Dignified men in helmets bore the flags of each neighborhood of Arezzo and their jousting champions. The mayor, judges, and other dignitaries were surrounded by knights in chain mail and brightly colored uniforms. It was spectacular. We quickly paid for our meal and followed the procession up to the cathedral at the top of the mountain. It felt like the whole city was packed inside, and we could barely see the bishop and the mayor at the front. What a night!

In Other News:
-This Sunday we take a day trip to Florence (Firenze). When I learn the Italian word for “so frickin stoked” I will tell it to you.
-One of my roommates is sick. This is gonna sound terrible, but I’m hoping it’s because of some bad meat she ate, and not the stomach flu like she thinks, because we’ve all been sharing drinks and living in really close quarters…
-The septet rehearsed today, I love this piece, it’s a lot of fun. The bass actually gets really cool parts, and since I’m by myself I get to play with it a bit more. Chamber music is the bomb.
-Daniel: have fun at GSP! I’m so proud of you. If you get time send me an email (something along the lines of “I am alive,” and maybe some stories you can’t tell mom and dad?)!
-I miss you, and I love you.

XOXO
Erin

How do you say, in english?

2008-06-09T09:10:00.000-07:00

I hear a shriek. Somewhere nearby someone is screaming their poor heart out. Perhaps a woman is being robbed, or a child beaten? I roll onto my back and confirm I am not dreaming. Fast on the heels of my first thought (Glasses, glasses, where are my glasses?) comes another: Perhaps I should scream too? In my head I give an experimental shout. What comes out sounds more like “whuh?” In my jet-lagged well-travelled state I am slow to realize that these strange calls are not “help!” or even “aiuto!” In fact what I am now hearing are overlapping two octave arpeggios, descending chromatically. I am relieved to find that what I’d mistaken for a distress call is actually musical rapture. Oh joy.

I am currently living in a convent. I have the best roommates in the joint, H (clarinet) and M (bassoon), neither of which are nuns. We get along well, and our room is very comfortable and “cute.” Our neighbors scattered along the hall are all opera singers. Sopranos and mezzo sopranos, to be specific (I’ve been assured the distinction is very important). These dear neighbors have been “warming up” since we arrived. I imagine they are quite toasty by now.

My computer thinks it is 12:16 right now. That is because my computer still believes it is with you, in Kentucky. It doesn’t know is that both it and I are currently an ocean, several countries, and six hours from “y’all” and “g’mornin’.” I am writing you from Santa Catarina in Arezzo, Italy. It is raining now, and I have the window slightly open to let the pigeons in, and also to hear the Italian rain hit the ceramic tiles and metal gutter outside. Funny, it sounds just like Kentucky rain. If I close my eyes, there’s nothing to tell me I’m not lying in the grass under our big oak. Well, except for the distant tolling from the bell tower of Arezzo’s cathedral. And the catty rapid fire Italian exchanged between two maids downstairs. And the echoing of multiple languages trapped in high ceilings and hardwood floors.

Ok, so it’s not exactly like home.

The town of Arezzo is beautiful. It is beautiful in the evening, with golden warmth slanting across the cobblestones. It is beautiful at night, with bright globes outlining meandering streets and laughing couples weaving through the bustle. It is beautiful in the morning, and when it drizzles. It is beautiful when the cobblestones dry in the sun and the shop awnings glint with droplets.

You might have gathered that I like it here. Yesterday I went on a walking tour that gave me just a taste of the history and culture. As Abby would say, I’ve eaten one pistachio (it was delicious, and now I want more). I think I will have to get lost, reveal myself as a foreigner, and fall on the cobblestones many more times in the next 5 weeks to fully appreciate Arezzo. I plan to shirk responsibilities whenever possible in order to do so (just kidding).

Said “Responsibilities” Include:
-8:50 to 12:35 Italian lessons
-3 to 4 or 5, chamber group rehearsal (Beethoven Septet, Barber Adagio)
-6 to 8 orchestra rehearsal
-The Marriage of Figaro, and all associated performances and rehearsals

My Italian teacher does not speak English very well, but she’s very excited about all the various feminine/masculine/asexual/plural/singular/multidimensional/transmutational articles of Italian. She’s also excited about the English word for hiccups, which, if you think about it, is very fun to say.

I have not yet tasted gelato. I feel this is an egregious error that I must now correct. Ciao!

-------------------------------------------------------------

Practical Stuff:
-I have internet (obviously), but it’s currently inconvenient to use for an extended period of time (long story, work in progress). I’m typing blogs offline, and then only getting online long enough to post them and send the standard “I am alive” email to my family. Expect contact, but not regular extensive contact.
-No cell phone.
-Food/money is holding out all right. The convent isn’t letting us use the kitchen, and doesn’t have laundry facilities.
-Digital Camera=awesome. I take back all the bad things I said about technology (until it breaks).
-I have converters for charging appliances (like this computer). I have not killed anyone or anything yet. Knock on wood for me.
-I’m still your graceful glamorous girl (Tide will get chocolate out of cotton, right?), and I love you. A lot. Hugs all around.

XOXO
Erin

Paghera tutto questo signore.

2008-05-25T19:09:00.000-07:00

I’ve recently discovered that some people actually read this thing, so I’m going to try to be better about posting. Look for more posts from Louisville (Luhvulle), Kentucky, and then…. Arezzo!

I've been extremely busy lately. Swamped in fact. My most pressing responsibilities have included napping, drawing, bathing, napping, baking, playing bass, napping, sipping coffee, eating, and sleeping.

Ok, so I'm no poet, but the other night my brother and our good family friend from the neighborhood (Jordan) were having our first bonfire of the summer since I've been home, and I wanted to express the moment in a way that was not cliche repetitions of how much everyone had grown up and how bittersweet it is that nothing will ever be the same. So here goes:

A red glow
sharpens the edges of our thinning faces
the softness of childhood melted away
in the heat of a year of fires
spent apart
And from within these new faces voices
chafed and deepened
rush out to meet the cool night air and echo
in the chasm of a year's unshared memories.
Three pillars of time,
of cookies, scrapes, hidden cameras, and
poor dancing,
spies in an adult world,
cluster around a memory
throw plans and dreams
that flash and sizzle away
Into the space between us
Like pennies in a wishing well
Or an ocean.

Theme and Variations on the Traditional Cousins Night Out:
1.) Hugs. Traditional Greetings: “You look great!” “So do you!” (it’s still true every time. We always look great.)
2.) To Kashmiir for Indian food!
3.) Insist that we try something new this time, (not malai kofta and curry chicken with sweet lassi and coconut nan)
4.) Order malai kofta and curry chicken with sweet lassi and coconut nan.
5.) Eat too much
6.) Talk about our lives (recurring themes include a-men are clueless, b-everyone’s growing up too fast, c-remember that time when…, and d-you still owe me for that time when…)
7.) Waddle to Heine Bros for coffee and some devilish chocolate dessert, despite haven eaten too much at Kashmiir
8.) Reminiscing and Delighting, with many repetitions of "awww!" "that bastard!" and "that's so sweet!" return to previous themes (with slight variations: men are now oblivious instead of clueless, everyone should stop growing at 6 years old, and ___ is how you will repay me for that time when…)
9.) Create excuses to prolong the night. This time we held time at bay by swimming and eating Derby pie.

Useful Italian Phrases:
Paghera tutto questo signore…This Gentleman will pay for everything.
Il mio marito è nell'esercito…..My husband is in the Army.
Caffe stretto, per piacere…Rocket fuel, please. (made from espresso with less water)

Special Congradulations to my cousins: Sarah Smith for graduating from Male Traditional School, and Julie Smith for graduating from JCTMS. I’m so proud of you both. Now please stop growing (just kidding).

Bass Family Portraits:

Why I Was Late

2008-04-21T13:12:00.000-07:00

Special Thanks:
To Mr. Graham Akeson, for being there with the scissors, and only laughing a little.

Moral:
Even super bass-babes are still not cool enough to ride their awesome bicycles in long skirts.

Other News:
-The sun is back.
-Contra dancing is the best most exhausting and satisfyingly fun thing I've done in a very long time. I've successfully passed out unconscious, and dreamless, on my bed at a reasonable hour for the past two weekends now, without the aid of any mind-altering substance. My calves hurt so good right now!
-I have so much work to do. ugh. moving on...
-Today's Psych/Neuro department lecture was on the defensive behaviors of rodents and humans. It was frickin amazing, if you want a proper explanation you're just gonna have to call me.
-blues dancing=hawt. I didn't think I could bend all those ways. Still not so sure I was meant to.
-Tonight the orchestra rehearses Mendelssohn's Elijah with full choir for the first time. I'm so stoked.
-I found a secret spot to practice in outside, which I will not tell you about, because some sneaky violinist will probably steal it. Just know that Mr. Darcy is getting his fair share of sunshine too.
-I miss you, and will be home soon. (soon=May 19th)

Rockin Pnemonia and Boogie Woogie Blues

2008-04-15T21:03:00.000-07:00

So I can't sleep. I can't even blame California tonight, either. I think it might have something to do with the three shots of espresso, mug of earl grey, and chocolate surprise cake (with sweet cream cheese icing inside) that I just had. Not that I only give you blog-love when I can't sleep...just today.

If I ran the world...
Every restaurant would have a cup of crayons on the table, and extra napkins to draw on. Lynn's Paradise Cafe is leading Earth in this movement, currently. Not only do they provide crayons for every table, but tubs of plastic dinosaurs and cowboys as well. Also, the winners from the annual Ugly Lamp contest at the state fair (which is exactly what it sounds like, with prizes for the ugliest lamps in the "born ugly" and "made ugly" categories) are proudly displayed on every table. With killer cinnamon sweet potato fries and grits done right, it's obvious why this is my favorite restaurant, and why anyone I go there with now has a multicolored napkin portrait of themselves.

The psychics of Cafe Mimosa are still spot on. My fortune today: "Travels from nesting space will take you to a broader cultural horizon." I'm not sure the traditional ending applies here.

Do that Time Warp again!

2008-03-08T12:24:00.000-08:00

This was written several days ago. Clearly we're in a time warp. (or I just don't know how to use my computer. That's also possible.):

Looking out my window now, I can see nothing but white. At first I assumed I wasn't wearing my glasses, but as I can see everything in my room clearly, this is obviously not the case. Therefore I must conclude that:
a.) Matt and Ian have hit my window with so many snowballs that it is covered in ice.
b.) A giant albino squirrel is trying to climb the side of Langston.
c.) Oberlin is in the middle of an f-ing blizzard.

Since Matt and Ian's aim is not that good, and the giant albino squirrels live in the Arb, I'm going with C.

So the snow has been coming down hard for about 48 hours now. They haven't plowed the sidewalks, and it is Too Cold. My bike is frozen, but my room is nice and toasty, with warm quilts and fleece blankets, and I have enough soup and coffee to withstand nuclear apocalypse (not really). If I listen carefully, I can hear the wind moaning through the trees, and it seems to say....

doooooon't gooooooo outsiiiiiiiiide.

I'm not about to disobey a direct order like that. You know what that means? LISTS!!!!

My Louisville Tour would include:
1.)kayaking from the marina by that greasy seafood restaurant to the Ohio river.
2.)bourbon french toast, sweet raspberry iced tea, macaroni, and banana pudding at Lynn's Paradise Cafe
3.)Bardstown road shopping tour, including Queen of Rags, Discoveries, Ear-X-Tacy, ending at Homemade Pie and Ice-cream kitchen for dutch apple with caramel pie
4.)surrey biking in waterfront park, walking along the waterfront, the Belle
4.)frisbee and fountain baths in cherokee park/soccer in Seneca park
5.)crayon rubbings in Cave Hill cemetary
6.)late set at the jazz factory with chocolate cheesecake
7.)Fat Friday gallery-trolley hop on Frankfurt
8.)orchestra concert downtown, + the glass factory and elevator jumping in the Starks building
9.)Sunday night concert in cheroke triangle, with ice cream from the truck, iced coffee from Heine Bros, and quilts to spread on the lawn
10.)a Hitchcock movie in the Brown theater

My Future Home:
1.) The doors are framed by climbing roses. Giant purple clematis hangs from the mailbox, and the honeysuckle on the fences (the kind you can squeeze little drops of sweetness from) makes the yard smell like heaven. A row of giant sunflowers nods from the back of yard.
2.) When I get tired of the color of the door, I paint it a new one: red, green, blue, or yellow.
3.) Instead of walls there are bookshelves, broken by stained glass and little figurines and bowls of Werthers. Ferns and Christmas cactus hang in baskets (high enough that I don't smack into them) around the reading/sitting room.
4.) Secret passageways are left undisturbed for my kids to find. Some of them are filled with treasures. They are decorated by years of overlapping murals and childish scribble, lined with pillows, and perfect for secret meetings.
5.) The music room has instruments collected from everywhere. The music library on a side wall is organized by instrument and composer. A giant mural (which changes every couple years or so) covers one wall, concert posters and paintings cover another. The hardwood floors are ideal for making a bass resonate. On the piano are the pictures of my mother, my grandmother, my great grandmother, and me all sitting in the dresses and on the benches of our own time, and a vase full of flowers from the yard.
6.) The big plushy colorful rugs don't match the curtains, which don't match the couches, which don't match the paintings.
7.) The porch has two rocking chairs side by side, with a small table between. They look out on the garden.
8.) The kitchen is big enough to dance in, and the rack of pots and pans high enough that I don't run into it. The stereo is next to the flour and sugar tins. One window box has basil, oregano, rosemary, the other marigolds, mint, and chamomile. I made the spice rack, and it's painted with roses. The walls are either blue or yellow. There's a small table next to the window, with a white linen table cloth and a pot of violets in the middle.
9.) Butterfly bushes keep the hummingbirds and butterflies happy. Finch feeders, a wind chime, and sun catchers hang around the porch. I never powerwash the stepping stones in the yard, and none of the bricks lie straight. There's a wide wooden swing hanging from the oak tree. The tree house has an elaborate pulley system to transport secret messages and snacks from different lookout points. Every part is a different color.
10.) In summer I sell mason jars of honey (and comb) from the three bee boxes in the back of yard at the farmers market stand, and I always set the thermostat close to the outside temperature, so I have more money to spend on the garden and music room.

Back to the Future (aka today):
It is warm again (relatively).

Ohio weather is insane:
-Last week the lock on my bike was frozen solid. When I tried to turn the key inside it, the metal part of the key broke off.
-In some places there's still something like three feet of snow. Tomorrow it's going to rain.
-yesterday I wore: two sweaters, ear-muffs, scarf, thick gloves, thick pants, and a coat. Tomorrow I will probably wear a skirt, t-shirt and jacket.

Hmm, well if I feel like saying anything interesting I'll start another post. Give yourselves big hugs from me, see you soon (only two weeks until I come home!)!

Negative Correlation

2008-02-10T12:54:00.000-08:00

Breathing through your nose is really great, and I definitely recommend it (aka "my cold is gone, thank goodness!"). In honor of being able to enjoy having a nose today, some lists:

Things in my life that smell good (in order of appearance in my day):
-clean sheets
-Alexandra's lilies-of-the-valley perfume
-coffee grounds
-chocolate hazelnut espresso
-my conditioner
-Irish Spring soap
-oatmeal w/ cinnamon and honey
-vanilla lotion
-the steam from mint tea
-last night's rose
-kneaded eraser
-snow. No really, I swear it has a smell. Biting, slightly static. I'm not crazy.

Funky smells I am nonetheless thankful to experience (again):
-the shirt I went dancing in two nights ago (why still on my floor? dunno.)
-the used teabags mildewed in my garbage can
-sci-fi lounge/the vinegar water from that busted heater
-dry-erase markers for my Brain Board
.
.
.
Ok, now on to "Topics Unrelated to my Nose"

I'm quickly becoming an expert in ensuring that days where you must do Too Much work do not suck. One method I've found successful is rewarding myself for finishing things. Here are some useful equations to demonstrate:
U=ugh
T=time
U(n)=Ugh 2,3, and 4 through infinity
R=reward
S=suck
:-D=happy

U plus T yields U(n) yields S
U plus T yields R yields :-D

Got it?

Let's put this in the real world to demonstrate:
When dry research methods statistics which must be waded through en masse for many hours are immediately followed by aural skills transcriptions, that is a Bad Day. When they are followed by a hot shower, chocolate hazelnut espresso, and/or writing in a blog when you should be working, that is a better day. When, after completing two human neurobiology chapters and 30 pages of music theory reading, you go out and Tango/Lindy-hop/Charleston with awesome people, you're having a good AND productive day.

:-D has a negative correlation for how much U must be repeated the next day.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
My Schedule, Spring Semester 2008

Monday
11 am-Research Methods I
1:30 Aural Skills II
2:30 Music Theory II
7:30 pm Orchestra

Tuesday
11 am Human Neurobiology
1:30 Research Methods Lab
2:40 Orchestra
9 pm Bass Studio

Wednesday
11 Research Methods I
1:30 Aural Skills II
2:30 Music Theory II

Thursday
11 Human Neurobiology
2:40 Orchestra

Friday
11 Research Methods I
2:30 Music Theory II

Sunday
8-11 Dancing my A** off

Tea and Turpentine

2008-02-01T22:17:00.000-08:00

Self Portrait: Acrylics.
My original intention with this painting was to practice entirely in shades and tints of blue. After I had a finished portrait entirely in blue, however, I realized how boring that was. Also I didn't like the blue I had, because it was ugly when I mixed it with black. Therefore I started added color accents to the hair and neck, and then went crazy. I was too cautious with how much paint I applied, and as a result the style is really static and finicky, with canvas peeking through in parts. I really like color as shading in the hair, though.

Glance: oils
This painting was an attempt to loosen up my style with portraits. I wanted to work fast, with large brushstrokes. I started with an underpainting of general blocks of paint, then layered in shadows. I blended white, yellow ochre, and alizarian crimson for the skin tones, with burnt umber and just a little blue for shadows. I used blue to give shape to the eyes, and layered yellow ochre wet-on-wet in burnt umber for the irises. By the end of this I got a feel for blending color in wet-in-wet oils. I also mistook my tea for turpentine and tried to clean my brush in it no less than three times. (I blame the Vicadin; I recently got my wisdom teeth out and drugs have become a convenient excuse for all manner of brain farts.)

Rose: Oils (for mom)
This was the most frustrating painting I did, because there were so many details to attend to. I still don't feel good about the colors, but I'm pretty proud of the shading. I had a problem with consistency because I painted each section, petal by petal, until it was complete, before moving on to the next, so the style is not uniform. I've since realized this is a terrible way to go about things, and blocked every painting since this one. My favorite part of this painting is the rim of light shining from inside the curled petals. Different directions and lengths of strokes were used to define petal shapes.

Louisville: acrylics
This was a blast to paint! The canvas is just slightly bigger than postcard size, and each window/ripple on the water is a single brushstroke. I learned from previous mistakes, and began by blocking in sections, moving on, and coming back to add in details when the underpainting had dried. I'm planning a series of Louisville scenes about this size to hang around my dorm room. This is based on a photo taken from the Indiana side. Obviously the camera reversed it. Can you find Dad's office?

Bass: Acrylics on collage
For this I crumpled up sheets of music, cut them into irregular sections, and pasted them on the canvas so that the texture was crumply, with lines of music going every direction. I was worried that if the paint was too watery it would smear the music, so I used thick paint for parts of the background. That smoothed out the texture too much though, and didn't show the music through the paint, so I thinned it and it worked just fine. Every layer after that was thinned a lot more than usual, to let the music peak through. The tuning pegs have a lot of colorful accents in them that don't really show up in this picture. Hard edges and details were difficult to define here, because of the texture and because I was using such thin paint, so I had to adopt a looser style, which I ended up really liking. I'm very excited because I'm going to coat this in clear paint so light will hit the ridges of the crumpled-up texture in interesting ways. I'll let you know if it works.

2008: Hope

2007-12-26T22:47:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year, everybody. This is where I wish you a "Great 2008," not because it rhymes, or in any case not only because it rhymes, but because I think this year has incredible potential.
Good luck to you!

Announcements:

Some of you have apparently either lost my phone number or are having a steamy winter affair with a foreign super-model. If it's the latter, I congratulate you. If it's the former (or if you just want to give me all the kinky details about the super-model), my digits are (502) 287-3511. You should dial them.

Happy New Year, everybody! Here's to new beginnings, closure, and an even better year than the last. For those of you who are far away from me (shoutout to Visakhapatnam!), I miss you like crazy and can't wait to see you again. Folks in da Ville, it's wonderful to be with you again! Thanks for the big Southern welcome, and for making me feel so loved. Everybody, give yourselves big hugs from me, and hopefully I'll see you soon to give you yours in person!

Home.

2007-12-21T08:02:00.001-08:00

In my dorm room it will be dark now, very quiet, and cleaner than it ever was when I lived there. Under the window, the streetlight is probably shining on my 3' plastic Christmas tree. At the top of the tree is a star made of Popsicle sticks and covered in glitter. Nestled in the artificial foliage are crochet angels, a shiny plane with a sunglass-wearing rabbit which says "#1 sister," a wooden rocking horse ("baby's first Chrsitmas, 1989"), a blue glass globe that asks for "PEACE," and Princess Leia in her Jedi garb. The lights hang off the branches, dead and limp.

Right now, as I sit and picture this lonely little shrine, I imagine one obvious bare spot, on the front left center of the tree. The previous occupant of this spot is a beautiful, fragile, winged woman, looking to the sky with outstretched wings and arms. As I made my final go-around through my room for forgotten necessities, it seemed right to reach out and hold this sad little woman in the palm of my hand. It seemed even more fitting to cradle her to my chest, and then nothing would do but to tuck her safely away in my travel bag of wool sweaters, and, with a final salute to Oberlin, we headed home.

The first thing I did when I got home yesterday-well actually, no, the first thing I did was hug my Daddy and Squirt, and wrestle with Riley (my dog!), so this was the third thing. Ok, so the third thing I did when I got home yesterday was to carefully remove the tiny ceramic angel from her sweater nest and place her at eye level on the left side of our Christmas tree. It felt so right to have the angel here, and the longer I stood there the more convinced I was that this is where she needs to be. I've decided that she's healing. That's what that little figure says to me; she's a woman, alone, overcoming and rallying herself to face new challenges. Her eyes are closed, but her face is lifted; she's no longer naive, but still warm and full of hope. I think she's going to be just fine. She's content to be home, surrounded by tinsel and lights and people who know and love her. And she's going to be Just Fine.

A lot's happened this semester. Since returning to the 'Ville, I've noticed that:
-I've changed.
-I'm exactly the same.
-Louisville's a different city.
-This town is just what it always was.
-Daniel's tall, and far too poised (and cheeky!).
-He's still five years old, in his heart of hearts.
-So am I.

Louisville, I've missed you so much. It's good to be back. Tomorrow I will cook in my own kitchen, with my own obnoxiously loud music, in my own obnoxiously childish pajamas. There will be Spatula Solos, and long hugs, and twirling. Yes, twirling!

COMING SOON: Highlights From Semester One, "Erin E. Goes to Obieland"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Tonight Daniel and I got Chinese take-out. My fortune begins and ends with little smiley faces, the way Emperor of China fortunes do. It says:
"A carrot a day,may keep cancer away."
No joke, that's what it says. Also, my lucky lotto six #s are: 7 5 4 20 23 22)

The Lobb Family Tree of Nerdom! (Space Ornaments on the Lobb Tree, "talking"):
NASA:
-Lunar Rover
-Freedom 7
-Space Shuttle
-Lunar Module -“Incredible. It’s really a wild place up here..”
-Gemini- John Glenn –“Roger. Zero G and I feel fine. The view is tremendous.”

Star Trek-
-Captain Kirk
-Warf
-Commander Sisko
-Captain Picard
-Spock
-Enterprise II,III,IV
-Vulcan Battle Cruiser
-Romulan Warbird
-Commander Riker
-Dr. Leonard McCoy
-Borg Cube -“We are the borg. Enjoy your holiday. Resistance is futile.”
-USS Voyager
-Shuttlecraft Galileo- “Shuttlecraft to Enterprise. Shuttlecraft to Enterprise. Spock here.
Happy Holidays. Live long and prosper.”
-Captain Janeway
-USS Runabout
-USS defiant –DS9
-USS Voyager
-Klingon Bird of Prey

Star Wars-
-Boba Fet
-Han Solo Darth Maul
-Qui Gon Jinn
-Millenium Falcon
-x-wing starfighter
-Nabo starfighter
-Darth Vader -“The force is with you, young Skywalker ….but you are not a Jedi yet.”
-Queen Amadila
-R2D2
-C3PO
-Ewoks
-Obiwan Kenobi
-Princess Leia
-Luke Skywalker
-Imperial Stormtrooper
-Gungan submarine
-Darth Vader’s tie fighter
----------------------------------------------
Christmas Cider

mix:
2 qt cider or apple juice
1/2 cup brown sugar (to taste)
1 teaspoon whole allspice
1 teaspoon whole cloves
1/2 teaspoon salt
a dash of nutmeg
4 cinnamon sticks (or more)

slow boil in a slow cooker or large pot and leave in open air. Entire house will smell like spiced cider.

I am awake. WHY?

2007-12-01T01:06:00.000-08:00

It's 4:07 AM.

I am awake.

This does not please me.

If it was not, in fact, 4:07 AM, I would come up with something clever that began with the letters A and M and stood for "time to be asleep." Except it would be more vehement than that because it would be in ALL CAPS and probably end in a few choice curse words.

Why am I awake at 4:10 AM?

I wish I knew.

The immediate answer to that question is:
1.) The fire alarm (which hurts my ears and sounds like demon indigestion/squeels of pain from the pits of hell) went off.
2.) When I failed to notice this (becuase it is 4:12 Atimetobe Masleep), and did not move, my roommate opened the connecting door and began shouting my name. At least that's what happened from my perspective. From her doorside view, she calls into the darkness over the demon sounds, and this body slams bolt-upright in bed with a horrified gasp, and begins looking at her with wide staring eyes.

At that point I looked at my roommate (who by this time had gathered her precious belongings in a teetering pile in her arms and was practically running out the door), and inquired as to what, pray tell, might be going on... ("ACK! uhhgu? Wablooo ell? whazzit? Whatime? ubluguh nuh." which, roughly translated, means: "Huh? What the (curse)? What is that awful sound, and why? What time is it? (curse) ok, I'm up") But by the time I articulate this, my roommate is gone. So's my mind. Apparently waking me up from a deep sleep with screaming and demon sounds, then running away in a panic does bad things to my brain. I run out the door. Half way out, I run back in for my robe. I run back out. The front of my body is hunched over, my eyes are still squinted closed. I get outside.

It is very cold.

If I had not taken to wearing socks to bed, I would have been barefoot. As it was, I was in sock feet, a tank top pj top and (luckily) fleece pj pants. To quote a great mind: "my toes are froze. And my noze is froze too!" I also did not have my glasses, which meant I did not recognize any of the mulling angsty muttering figures around me. I began calling my roommates name in a panic. At least, I think that's what I said. I didn't find her. As far as my sleep-crazed mind was concerned, she was dead, and so was I. I did find Rachel. Her body was warm. I love her now. We are going to elope in the sunrise tomorrow. Yes.
So Rachel hugged me and let me stand on her feet. I found Jeff, also. He was in a t-shirt, like it was no big thang. I grunted at him. His response, "nice hair," did not cheer me. (My breath is just tasty too. MmmmMmm good!)

So what, you might wonder, did my roommate deem valuable enough to gather at life's peril and deliver safely from the (not) burning dorm?
-BabyDog (a wellworn stuffed dog, not a real one, that wears a pink dress)
-the Boyfriend Box, containing all ticket stubs, dried flowers, cards, napkins, and other memerabilia
-a china ballerina and Lock Ness Monster (both of which belonged to a favorite grandma)

Heck, I didn't even remember my glasses. Or shoes.

Again I ask you, why am I awake at 4:32 AM?

The other potential answers to that question, which the perpetrator better be (cursing) thankful I don't know include:
1.) incense (the dominant explaination, which I find unsatisfying)
2.) hot-boxing, or smoke-boxing, or whatever it's called, which, as it was explained to me in a shocked how-do-you-not-know-how-to-do-this voice, is when you smoke up some mary-jane in an enclosed space to trap the smoke, so you get higher and higher.
3.) Fire Poi Club was firedancing in Starlight lounge. (this is false. If it were true, it would almost be forgivable because that is so (cursing) bad(curse). And by that I mean awesome).
4.) late night grilled cheese cravings gone horribly horribly wrong.
4.) OPAN was performing sexy candle wax cleansing rituals.
5.) people are dumb (yes)
6.) it's a plot to make sure Erin doesn't sleep. The government is involved, especially The Man. Yes, that Man. And it's so convoluted and complicated and well orchestrated and blobulated that I have not yet figured it out and/or come to suspect anything.

It's 4:39 AM. I am awake. I see this as a problem I would like to correct.

Full.

2007-11-22T17:59:00.001-08:00

If I could, I would put this day in slow motion and live it again, savoring each sensation and every moment. The bites would last long enough to taste all the spices, smell every memory, and feel every grain of texture. I would have time to settle into the smell of everyone's hugs and feel loving arms around me for years at a time. My aunt's smiles and cousin's wildly gesticulated stories would stretch to fill me up, the snores and laughter and easiness would go on and on, and I could go back to my concrete cubicle feeling so full of love that it would buoy me up to winter break before real time had a chance to work me over.

Dinner was heavenly. It took nine chefs and three ovens to work the magic this year. As per tradition, all the men of the family arrived at my aunt/uncle's house early to make the delicious stuffing (the secrets of which are jealously guarded). The highlights of the evening included the smashed potatoes, green beans (stir-fried w/ mushrooms and almonds), corn pudding and stuffing. Also, the cranberries (served can shaped, the way they're supposed to be), artichoke dip, and rolls were delicious. The marshmallows on the sweet potatoes didn't catch fire this year, but turned a nice golden color (Lenny took a picture). And of course, there was plenty of groaning and grinning over the Derby pie, made by Emily and her friend Liz. For those of you not from Kentucky, Derby pie is a chocolate-pecan pie in a golden sugary crust. God laid it on the bluegrass on the 7th day to show his love for Kentucky.

After dinner, the men fell asleep in front of the TV (though if you ask them, they were all wide awake and engrossed in football, and definitely not snoring/drooling), and the ladies (+ Lenny) slumped back in our seats to sip coffee and share stories. Lot's of exciting/tragic/everyday/extraordinary Things have happened this year, and Plans are being laid.

In Other News:
-The Girls Are Back In Town! Scandal, pigging, and giggling will ensue.
- Daniel (my baby bro) is participating in this "no-shave November" business. He looks OLD.
-The Kids Table won the Awesome Award again this year, hands down. Grown-Up Table needs to step it up.
-Julie (my cousin) is still ridiculously ticklish.
-So am I.

Have you been outside tonight? It's a full moon, and everything's lit up, it's really beautiful. I'm gonna go for a walk after this, and I'll be thinking of you. (You=family and friends, people I love, and people I have yet to meet and love.) If you get the chance, I hope you look out at the same moon, and think of me too. Happy Thanksgiving, and goodnight!

love,
Erin
------------------------------
Uncle Bob's Corn Pudding

mix:
1 can whole kernel corn
2 cans creamstyle corn
2 eggs
1 tsp each salt and pepper (to tast)
2 Tbs butter
3/4 cup sweetened condensed milk

pour into a casserole dish
bake at 350 for 1 hour
turn off the oven and let it sit in the oven to set up.

High Velocity Melons

2007-11-19T14:12:00.000-08:00

Erin Eliza's life lessons of the week:
-Two loads of laundry cannot be compressed into one dryer. Nothing will get dry except your socks and nylons. 75 cents is a small price to pay for warm, dry, sweet-smelling cottons.
-Some sweaters you'd normally have to hand-wash may be machine washed if placed in a "delicate bag."
-Taking your bass/stool/music/bow/text books/purse across campus to keep in your room for the weekend is NOT worth it, unless you have a very good reason. It eats the room space, and then you have to worry about bothering your neighbors. Plus, what goes north must eventually go south again, meaning that, tonight or tomorrow, I must return dear Darcy and all his accessories to the Con.
-A double recipe of spice cookies makes a bagajillion cookies. And then some.
-When walking down stairs in strappy heels, do not take long boisterous strides. Delicately place your heel, then toe, on the stair in front of you, and move your other leg only when you are sure you're secure.
-On the great list of Hottest Things Ever, dancing the Tango ranks pretty damn high (right next to cadential 6-4 chords, cause those are hawt, and yeah, you can get a "hawt" for that).

My Tonks Point Count for the week (aka things I have fallen down/run into/spilled on myself/etc):
-Three flights of stairs (5 for a genuine slide and flailing backside landing, 2 each for tripping and catching myself, +3 for in-class tumblage, -2 for wearing strappy high heeled shoes on stair #2. Total=11 points)
-Coffee (3 each, +3 for repeated dribbling of the same cup, +2 for spilling on a white coat. Total=11)
-Tea (1 each for mugs, 5 for pot, -1 each for incidents in morning. Total=9)
-High velocity melon flinging onto Attractive Male Group Member (5 points. +2 for additional cottage cheese flecks, +2 for apparently hilarious look of horror. Total=9)
-Three door frame side-swipes (2 each. +2 for massive hip bruisage on bathroom stall lock, -1 for early morning. Total=7)
-Full body slam into inconveniently placed wall in dorm lobby (5, +1 each for Hipsters present, +3 for continuing to carry on conversation with Cute Guy. Total=10)
-Running into the same wall the next day (10)
Overall Total=66 Tonks Points.

Ok, I've gotta go, but there's more to come! Really. Eventually.

k, bye!
XOXO,
Erin

Blanket Forts

2007-11-17T13:25:00.000-08:00

Remember when you were five and you and your little bro/sis/cousins made blanket forts out of furniture, pillows, heavy stuff and every blanket/quilt/afghan you could find in the house? And you would drape quilts over tables you'd turned sideways, and hold down corners with heavy books till the whole room was a giant circus tent and you had to army crawl through cotton tunnels to get to where you could sit up? Well if you just change that "when you were five" to 18, 19, and 21, and change "little cousins" to creative writing/computer science/religion/international studies/DnD majors, then you know exactly what has been going on in sci-fi lounge this weekend. I think Julia was the one who started it, but the blanket-fort tradition has been resurrected and embraced by residents of North, and I love it.

The best things about blanket forts:
-The way light goes through different quilt squares in different colors.
-wriggling through the tunnels on your stomach while trying not to pull your delicate shelter down around you.
-watching your friends wriggle through said tunnels.
-the coziness of a fleece-ceiling tent and pillow-blanket floors
-tickle wars
-poetry readings by flashlight
-sock feet

In other news, Stephen is not, in fact, a kangaroo rat. Which means eventually he must get up and empty his bladder.

A good night for flying

2007-11-04T19:39:00.000-08:00

I've been terrible about posting recently. I know this. That's just what my weeks have been like. Anyway, I'm going to try and catch up now (believe it or not, I'm about to have a reasonably light week!), even though I've forgotten things. So this is the first of a rapid fire posting attack about my past couple weeks. Time travel to, uhhh, about two weekends ago...

I have five favorite places on campus. Three of them are in the Arboretum. A few blocks past South, through those nice neighborhoods, the arb encompasses two small ponds, several streams, at least two bridges (a fallen tree decorated with ribbon fungus layers and ferns, and a manmade flatbridge with the words "all good teenagers take off there close" graffitied in blue), a nice woodsy area for walks, a fire pit (with two beaten up lawn chairs facing off across the coals), and a bare hill surrounded by trees. As I'm walking down to the water, two signs make me smile every time:

No Public Parking Beyond This Point, Pedestrians Welcome.

No Parking, Dusk-Dawn.

Last Saturday night/Sunday morning, in the stillest part of the night, when sensible people were snoring and even the most determined insomniacs were slumping off to bed, our motley crew made it's cheerful pilgrimage to the Arboretum. There were seven of us, all Northerners (with a few honorary Langsta Ganstas that have been absorbed by the Lounge) walking through neighborhoods where the streetlamps lit up our breath and eager faces. The noises of life quieted to crunching leaves, soft voices, and the occasional burst of laughter. Julia and I hummed to ourselves, and sometimes traded in whispers and Looks broken by giggles. Mark zipped along beside on his bike, belting out 70s pop tunes, and Alyssa told us about her Llama book, as we made our meandering way to the Hill for poetry and stargazing.

When neighborhoods gave way to woods, the stillness was almost perfect. There was no wind, and in the suspension of movement and sound I felt the bite of cold air zing through my lungs. When we got to the edge of the reservoir I lagged behind. The water was glass, and in it a second set of stars lit up the world from below. Around the edges of the water, the silhouettes of leaf-bare trees stretched out their limbs. The world in starlight was made of gray, textured with gray. I leaned out over the edge of the water and narrowed my vision until I was sandwiched between the glittery blue-black worlds, and I spread my wool-encased fingers wide. It was a good night for flying.

We tottered around the edge of the water and through the woods, holding on to each other and relying on memory when sight escaped. Stephen, Rosemary, and Jeff were already settled in at the top, their flashlight a tiny pinprick in the black. I spread out a fleece blanket beside the others. It -popped- as it whipped the cold night air, and floated down to the grass. Each of us laid down our offerings in the center; Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, Lord Byron, ee cummings, William Blake. I lay back on my blanket and let my bones flow into the ground while I looked up at the stars. There are so many stars to see in the Arb on a clear night.

The first shooting star took us by surprise. Those of us who saw it felt blessed, its silent arc of light burned in our minds after it faded. The next soft gasp was a wonderful coincidence. Two in just a few minutes! After that, the sharp intake of breath signaled our eyes to follow fingers without any need for explanation. I heard someone say recently that a couple Saturday night/Sunday mornings ago, there was a great meteor shower that you could see really well, 'cause it was so clear out. At the time, I knew it was magic.

That night I learned that:
Julia, Stephen and Rosemary are fantastic poets. They each read some of their original work, which ranged from cheeky to poignant, and I hope to hear more of them.
If you're cold for long enough, you forget you have a nose and the shivering stops.
Shakespearean sonnets become a lot more sexy when recited in whispers.

Back in the present: It's been raining on and off all day. Right now it's on. The sky is grumbling, and everything is dark. Doug, who lives in my dorm, is playing banjo somewhere in the distance. I hope he knows that at least one person is listening to him, and smiling.

How the Cookie Crumbles

2007-10-27T21:41:00.001-07:00

So tonight Daniel (my not-so baby bro) and I went to Cafe Mimosa, a restaurant I love so much that I noticed changes in the waiting staff since I've been gone, and it made me a little sad. But anyway, we were having a nice dinner, laughing and being our usual sophisticated selves (right), and at the end of the meal we got the check and, more importantly, the fortune cookies. Well I handed Daniel his cookie, and he handed me mine (that's what makes them true, you know), and I reminded him to add the appropriate ending to his fortune. Well he opens his and reads aloud: "You will be awarded a great honor (in bed)." Lovely. I am happy for him. I eagerly open my cookie, and sit up to read aloud--and it's empty. Empty! I break the cookie into little pieces to make sure; there's nothing in there. And nothing in the wrapper, nothing on the table... Apparently, I don't have a future. My advice to add the traditional ending takes on new significance.

Later that evening, Daniel's philosophizing over his pecan pie (w/ butter pecan ice cream. I had the dutch apple with caramel, tried and true, but I digress). He came to the happy conclusion, in regards to my lack of fortune, that "Well at least we know it won't be a fireball of death." His logic was, of course, that since he still had to be awarded a great honor, he wasn't going to die tonight, which meant it probably wasn't a traffic accident on the way home.

Great. This is very reassuring considering how very comfortable I am driving the van after walking everywhere for three months.

Not.

Anyway, right now my hair smells like woodsmoke, my face is sticky with marshmallow, and I still exist. All is right in my world.

Tomorrow, I return to Obieland, around 5ish (emphasis on the ish). Let's do something fun.
---------------------------------------------------
Peanut Butter Blossoms/Peanut Butter Nipple Cookies

preheat the oven to 375
cream 1 cup sugar, 1 cup brown sugar, 1 cup butter and 1 cup creamy peanut butter
beat in 2 eggs, 1/4 cup milk, and 2 tsp vanilla
gradually add 3 1/2 cups flour, 2tsp baking soda, and 1 tsp salt
roll the dough into balls, and roll these balls in granulated sugar so they're coated on all sides
place on ungreased cookie sheets
bake 10-12 minutes at 375 degrees.
while they're baking, unwrap a lot of hershey's kisses.
as soon as you take the cookies out of the oven, press a kiss into the center of each
if you want, a little later you can come back and press the kiss down a little more so there's a nice ring of chocolate around it.

(this will make about 7 dozen cookies)

Buns in the Oven

2007-10-27T11:21:00.000-07:00

You may have visited this site recently and wondered why I'm too lazy to scribble a few words about my day on the internet, when obviously I'm home on fall break and probably have lots of free time on my hands. Well contrary to your (and my own) visions of lots of free time and lazy days, I've been having so many adventures that I haven't had time to document them! But I have time now. So I'm going to break my break into sections, and post them here all at once. Try not to freak out.

Excerpt #1 from Fall Break, Night on the Town (Thursday evening):

So Thursday night I went out on the town with my lovely cousin. After we'd hit all the strip joints, left the disco club, and paid Pablo...

Ok, no, actually we went to Panera Bread, where I met Emily's boyfriend from Boyce, we went Halloween shopping, and then went out for coffee before visiting with our grandma. So I guess I'll tell you about that, even though my other story might have been more exciting...

So I met Emily's boyfriend. I've already reported back to the family, but I'll say it here too: I thoroughly approve. He was very friendly, sweet and polite, and very attentive to Emily. I like him a lot (and this doesn't have anything to do with the fact that I think he can get me discounts at one of my favorite restaurants/he gave me free raspberry Jones), and I guess Emily does too, which is really all that matters anyway.

In other news, my cousin, Emily, has bought a car. It's a very pretty car, a bright red Jeep, with decent gas mileage, lots of room, very safe. I know the real reason she bought it though: it has Toosh Toasters! The driver and passenger-side seat have built in seat warmers! Now, with the push of a button, our buns can be gently roasted while our appendages shiver. I tried them myself, they're wonderful, and I can think of many less sensible reasons to buy a car. I'd like to get some toosh toasters myself, in fact.

One story about the toosh toasters that I simply must share (I have permission):
My cousin was out with her friend in the new car. They'd both just run through the cold rain (it's been raining here all week) and were soaked through. Emily says she was so cold couldn't feel anything when they climbed into the car and started driving. After a few minutes, she found out she could feel something; a wet warmth spreading across the lower half of her body. Emily looked at her friend, who was on the phone, in horror. She had her suspicions about that wet warmth, which, in her numb state, she had no way to confirm or deny. (keep in mind, as Emily tells me this story, she's reenacting with facial expressions and interrupting herself with fits of laughter) It was only when she saw the light on the seat warmers that she understood how she'd been fooled. Her friend give her a questioning look, to which my cousin replies "oh, nothing." For a long moment there, she thought for sure she'd peed her pants. Toosh toasters strike again!

I'm totally getting a car with toosh toasters, by the way. Forget brakes and bumper and all this nonsense. I just want to keep my buns in the oven.

Excerpt #2, Campbellsville (Thursday morning/afternoon):
We thought we were sneaking up on her, so she wouldn't have time to put together a complicated meal. We should have known better than to try and catch Nana off her guard though. Mom and I went down to Campbellsville to visit relatives this week. When me got to my Nana's house, hot on the heels of "come 'ere you, give me a hug," "I've missed you so much," and "So you like it, then?" came "want some potato soup?" followed closely by green beans, and dutch apple pie. It was all delicious, of course. Then came the family stories and the sizing up (Apparently I'm still pretty, though I need to eat more :-) ). We also visited my Papo, he's doing very well, all things considered. We gave him a Nascar book, and he made us laugh. He seemed in good spirits. It was a nice diversion. Also, driving through the country was absolutely gorgeous, the leaves are glorious this year.

Different kinds of brown/gold that I observed on the way to Campbellsville:
-pure Au gold, like those flecks in the souvenir water tubes that you hold up to catch the light
-roasted-marshmallow brown, (warm, golden, and perfect)
-mulled-cider brown, with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg
-creek-bank mud brown
-pumpkin pie orangish brown
-algae-pond muddy brown

It was one of those days where it couldn't decide whether to rip open and dump storms, or shine, so parts of the sky were this ominous moody blue, but everything was streaked with distinct bands of light that would touch down on the treetops and tops of hills to bring out the bright colors. Some patches of road were dripping with gold, while in others the shadows were so dark there were almost purple.

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Pie baking tips from Nana (only to be attempted once you've mastered all variations of the "stick o' butter, cup o' sugar, can o' beer" technique):
- To get a crumble crust pie, like a dutch apple pie, to cook perfectly in the center without burning the edges of the crust, take an aluminum pie dish and cut a circle in the center, so that you have the sides of the dish and then a 1-2 in rim around, and place that over the pie while it's in the oven.
- For a moist, smooth cheesecake with no cracks in the top, prepare a water bath for the dish to sit in while it's baking. To do this, fill an outside dish with water, then place your pie dish in the water dish before putting it in the oven. This spreads the heat to cook gently and evenly. It's also a good way to cook custards, and other desserts with an egg base. It works best if your pie dish is ceramic, not metal.

It seems like everyone in my family has their special recipe. There's Martha's carrot cake, Bob's Thanksgiving stuffing, Cathy's Christmas cinnamon rolls, Emily's Derby pie, Grammy's peanut butter blossoms, Dad's almond/mushroom green beans...even Daniel's already becoming known for his delicious banana bread! I wonder, sometimes, what my recipe will be. When my cousins, who are already getting far too old far too fast, start popping out babies, and their little darlings say 'Aunt Erin (does that sound clumsy to you? It does to me. Auntie Erin, maybe? Or maybe just Erin, cause I'm a cool aunt), Aunt Erin, won't you make _____!' what will I make? I think I will go on a quest, not for fame, fortune, or favor, but for my own personal recipe. I'll find a recipe that makes the people who know me smile and say 'nobody makes ____ like Erin!' And they'll be right. Now I just need to find guinea pigs....

Mom: (upon seeing a cow) Moooo!
Me: Coooooow!
Mom: (upon seeing a donkey) Oh, look at the donkeys.
Me: Are you gonna make a donkey noise?
Mom: (grinnning) heeee-haaaaw!
Me: Donkey! (laughing)
Mom: I just hope I don't see a pig....

(WTF: Since we were little, my family's played a car game where the first person to see a cow has to say "Moooo" before anyone else, and everyone else in the car has to say "Cooooow!" I think my dad started it. It was very entertaining when I was seven, and I gotta say, it hasn't lost its charm yet.

Since I posted this quote, Daniel has informed me that it's not really that funny. What do you think?)

Also:
-Riley keeps trying to give me toilet kisses.
-Dad's forgotten our (not-so-secret) finger wiggle handshake. He must be retrained.

Coronation of a Peppermint Princess

2007-10-17T21:00:00.001-07:00

It's so strange to be home. My room has doubled in size since I've been gone. When I told mom I was gonna practice in there (I usually practice in the living room, or outside), she asked me, deadpan, if I'd have enough room. I just laughed. Yes, I think I can manage.

Also, Daniel went and grew up on me! He's taller, broader in the shoulders, and he's got this unmistakable dark shadow on his chin... he's nobody's little boy anymore, that's for sure (though I'm still going to call him Squirt. You know I'll always call you Squirt, Squirt). He's changed in other ways too, not just physically, I can't quite figure out what it is. He's calmer now, maybe, or more in control? I don't know. He says I haven't changed "at all", but that was right after I misplaced my keys (for the first time since I've been at Oberlin, ironically enough), tripped down the stairs, and ruffled his hair, so I really don't think that's fair.

There is one way I've changed, which mom noticed right away ("have you been eating right?" "Are you going to meals?"): I've lost weight. Put another way, I'm slightly less padded in key places than previously. :-) It's just a little difference, I didn't even believe mom until I got home and tried on an old skirt that I'd sadly put in storage before I left (for fear I'd squeeze into and break it for sheer stubbornness). I was very excited to have it settle comfortably around my hips, no popped buttons or stretched seams or anything! This is going to sound extremely girly and vain, but I'll admit, after I discovered this I pulled out a whole pile of old too-small clothes and tried them on. Rachel, I can now fit into that sparkly minidress you gave me! Look out world! (Don't worry, I wasn't trying to lose weight, and mom's doing her best to give it back anyways, what with her german chocolate, carrot cake, and potato casserole...)

Midterms and Other Assorted Factors (OAFs) have kept me from sharing my week with you in real time, so I'll describe some of the more interesting parts for you now:

-10:00 Wednesday: The Epic Pillow Fight of Doom on north quad. You probably heard the screams. And yes, it was as awesome as it sounds. Really, there aren't many better ways to relieve midterm stress than to attack your friends with pillows. This pillow fight was particularly entertaining because of the nerdy tendencies of the participants (author included). For instance, every few minutes, all warriors were ordered to freeze while some poor soul crawled around in the dark, feeling for their glasses (my own glasses had to be retrieved this way twice). Also, among the various battle cries were things like "For Science!" and "Prepare to meet your doom!" and light saber noises. It was glorious. Afterwards I lay in the grass panting, watching my breath rise through my steamed glasses, and thought about...nothing. And that is quite possibly the best part.

-The swing workshop was fantastic. I'm starting to understand the basics of lindy hop and the Charleston. East Coast swing, the easiest, is still my favorite by far. The leads were excellent, and very patient, as always. I had a lot of fun with this guy from Kalamazoo who knew just a little more than me about east-coast, but was a good dancer in general. Best of all, he had a sense of humor for all the times I stumbled. The regular Obie leads were, of course, charming. Also, Madison Crawl, the live band they brought in for the Saturday dances, is fantastic. I had as much fun watching them as dancing to them, I think. The bassist was a hoot, he spun his bass around, and held it over his head sometimes! The bassist was also the vocalist, and he had this raspy, jazzy voice that was fun to listen to. I can't describe the other instruments in great detail, but nobody cares about them anyway.

-Midterms. I had them, and now they're done. But I should say more, let's see...they weren't as hard as I thought they'd be. I only had three: developmental psychology, aural skills, and music theory. Developmental psych was the one giving me nightmares, but I actually think I did fairly well on it. I got extremely lucky, some of the questions on the test were things I'd reviewed that day. I know I screwed up one of the dictations for aural skills, and did ok on the practical. I'm fairly confident about how I did on Music Theory. I guess I'll find out soon enough. It feels pretty good to have them over with.

I'm sure there's more to say to you, but I've got a week to say it, so I'll take my time. Goodnight!
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Coronation of a Peppermint Princess:

Hot liquid hisses and groans through a copper maze before plunging. It pounds, echoing off the tiles. Slap-slap, as a thin layer rises to meet the new liquid, then gurgling and glugging with cheerful splash-chatter. Viscous red syrup makes it's lazy way to drip in the center of this churning mass, and is transformed. A thick cloud rises from the union and brushes my face. It's warm, but it smells like cold, like candy canes and colored lights, and it zings through my sinuses, penetrates my senses.

I sink into my 3x5x3 palace . The royal robe, swathes of minty frosting, sloshes and swirls around me in peaks of pure white. Tiny crackles, pops, and sizzles melt onto my skin. On my head rests a crown of soft white roses, on my chest a necklace of fluffy mint pearls, and on my chin, the royal peppermint goatee, complete with mint sideburns and a fine mint mustache. I am wrapped up safe in my cloud cradle, and with each breath unleashed I let the bones melt out of my body. The steam enters my skull and crowds out thoughts, reducing me to sensations. Warm. Soft. Candy Canes. Colored Lights. Heartbeat. Sinking.

On my head, a crown a of soft white roses- I rise from the foam, drips and clumps of white bubbles run down my skin. I breathe deeply, the scent fills me up again, and it is fresh and New.

Molasses>Rosin

2007-10-11T19:25:00.000-07:00

The giant sunflowers at the sunflower house are gone. If you're bold enough to step up to the yard though, you'll discover that the roses, which are still going strong (how do they bring out all those blooms on one bush? One of these days I'll have to ask. Watch it be one of my professors....), are bobbing on their stems because they're so heavy with perfume. The white english teas, especially, will make you dizzy with so much sweetness. I wish I could describe the smell to you, it's absolutely heavenly. Especially as an accent to the exciting patchwork quilt of smells I've been experiencing this week. Since Tuesday (when the local weather did that switchover from "why's it so hot, it's October?!" to "f*^$%, it's cold!"), I've started noticing the damp earthy smell of decaying leaves, overlayed by the crisp, biting tang of cold. For a couple nights now, I've smelled smoke from bonfires, too. And then of course, there's the perpetual funk of sci-fi lounge...

As a side note, the smell of rosin is similar enough to molasses to make you think you can eat it. Well you can't. It really does not taste like molasses at all, actually.

Steven's squash soup also smells like heaven (and nutmeg, hot-sauce, and carrots). If you get a chance to eat in kosher co-op, do it. You'll be so glad you did.

The changeover from summer to fall is all the more exciting this year, because I get to see it through the eyes of a friend whose California hometown doesn't have seasons. This poor deprived child, for all that he grew up with the roar of the ocean in his ears, has never rolled in a pile of damp, freshly raked leaves (or squealed because of the imaginary spider that must be crawling through it), never collected bright fallen foliage for a tracing book, has never run through the park like a fool trying to catch the pieces of color as they fall, and has probably never played acorn jacks! Obviously, this must be corrected! Yesterday, though it was very cold (yes I know, "get used to it"), I found consolation watching this friend experiment with breathing out different ways to see his breath. I didn't even notice I could see my breath, until he started huffing and puffing away! (I do believe there was even a giggle in there somewhere.) Also, he hasn't seen snow since he was 8... Snowball fights this year are going to be epic (;;cackles evilly;;).

There's probably a theme in there somewhere, something about appreciating old things in a new way... Maybe you'll appreciate it, I'm not going to think about it too hard just now (I'm saving all my thinking for midterms!).

In less than an hour, I'm going to take a basic Lindy swing class, and a basic Charleston class, so that I'll be ready (or at least won't make a complete fool of myself) at the costume swing dance tonight. After that...the study marathon!

By now you've probably heard that Spenser and I have broken up. No more Sperin. I really don't feel like going into detail about it. I'm ok. As far as I can tell, he's ok. We're still ourselves, just as individuals now.

Gumption

2007-10-09T13:52:00.000-07:00

It is a good thing I have such a twisted sense of humor, because today has been one of those days that, if I couldn't laugh, I would have had to cry. And everybody knows big girls don't cry!

So this morning I slept through my 9:00 AM class. In fact, I slept until approx. 9:40, and barely made it to 10:00 Music Theory. I don't know what happened, I set my alarm just like usual! The only thing I can figure is I must have woken up to turn it off, then gone straight back to sleep. Which is ridiculous, and I don't remember this, but it makes sense.

Anyway, that ended up being ok, because I just went to a later section of the 9:00 (which, as a side note, is far more energetic, and far easier to comprehend at @ 2:30 than it is at 9), but I was frazzled all morning. And I already wasn't doing so hot. So then, my 11:00 class, I find out five minutes before class that our major papers are due today (the syllabus was changed and I really don't think I got that email, but whatever). Luckily I'm awesome, and I finished it last night (ahead of the game, in my book), so all I had to do was email it to the professor, but still.

And then! Well, no, it doesn't get much worse than that, actually. When I write it out, it doesn't seem so bad, but understand, it was perfectly tragic at the time.

I'm sitting outside right now, and a bee just landed on my toe. My bare toe. Yeah.

In other news, I've still got it. And by that I mean my black bean chili is still a taste-bud teaser, crowd-pleaser, weekend-easer. And fudge brownies are still magic.

Mr. Sperl's Donut Machine

2007-10-06T07:14:00.000-07:00

This morning I was awake at Too:Early AM (about the time I would wake up to go to class if it wasn't SATURDAY). This is because, once again, an irritating beeping had nudged in on my dreams. It wasn't until I rolled over to glare at my alarm that I realized the beeping was my dream, and that it was, in fact, a Saturday. By then my brain (and bladder) were thoroughly awake, unfortunately. And so you find me here.

It's just as well, I suppose, because I've got a lot to tell you.

Did you know there's a Salsa Club, on campus? As in salsa dancing. Salsa dancing! And they meet every Thursday in South lounge! I only found this out last week, and I'm really excited about it. The movements of salsa dancing feel great, it's a very liberating kind of dance. You can't be shy in salsa. There are leads and follows, just like swing dancing, but in salsa, it's like the lead is paying homage to the follow, guiding her with his fingers, letting her twirl and show off and feel like a powerful woman, (there's actually a spin for which the Spanish to English translation is literally "show the girl off").

Tests are so much more stressful when they're timed! Case in point, I had five minutes to complete that dominant 7th chord resolution test I had on Friday, and it really did not go well. At all. I just completely didn't have time to do the last problem. And there were only four! I think we're going to take it again next week, since I was not alone in my distress. I need to study more for the next one, for sure.

So far, today has been pretty groovy (except for the negligible amount of sleep I got last night. Just for future reference, drinking a big cup of coffee right before you go to bed is just not a good call, no matter how good the company or how fancy and organic it is). Today, between the hours of 11 and 2, I removed myself from Oberlin, both mentally and geographically. I went to Mr. Sperl's house in Cleveland with Nishana, Gerald, and Janie for the annual donut bash. That will take some explaining...ok, so don't ask me why, but Mr. Sperl has a donut machine that makes approximately 400 donuts an hour, and every year he invites Cleveland orchestra folks, church/neighborhood folks, and his Oberlin bass students to have free donuts, cider, and coffee at his house. We got to meet his family, and there were all these adorable little kids bumbling around with chocolate and powdered sugar on their faces. Best of all, us bass students got to be silly and irreverent away from our responsibilities. I dunno what it's like back home right now, but it's been a beautiful day here. The sun was out, and the temperature's perfect, with a nice breeze. All the leaves are just starting to turn. It's just a great day to sit outside and get fat. Mmmmm fried sugar!

Hmmm, well tonight is the contra dance, and I've still got things to tell you from last week, so I'll come back to this. I hope everything is going well back home. Congrats, Daniel, on your fabulous report card (definitely finagle some good eats outta that one!), and all your recent soccer success (two shutouts, folks, give the man a hand!)! I miss you like crazy, hope you're finding time for fun.

Mr. Sperl's Donut Machine:
-First, the Donut Man flips the long red switch on the movable batter funnel up. It -clicks-.
-The batter funnel begins to gyrate slowly, side to side. A little tan puff of sweet batter squeezes out the bottom and -plops- into the oil. It immediately starts to bubble and -sizzle-, sinks to the bottom, and then bounces back to the top. As the bubbles clear, you can see a thick circle of dough. The funnel moves to the other side of the oil pan and lays down another little circle.
-The donut bobs up and down, floating in the oil, but half of it stays under and begins to brown. Metal rods move through the oil away from the batter funnel, carrying the donuts down the line. Then, about halfway through the oil pan, a metal sheet with holes in it turns through the oil. It lifts the donut out of the oil, and flips it so the uncooked side is submerged. The donut bobs along, and the newly presented side is a perfect golden brown.
-The donut is propelled through the oil until it reaches a ramp with moving chains stripped vertically along it. The donut is picked up by these moving chains and carried out of the oil to the top of the ramp. The donut teeters on the edge of the ramp, then slides down the other side, into a pan of hot, perfect donuts. It is soft and sweet.
-The donut is picked up by a little kid (or a big kid/a bass player), licking his lips, who is already covered in powdered sugar. He juggles it and blows on his fingers while running to the icing table.

Brain Soup and Ghosts

2007-10-03T08:04:00.000-07:00

This morning I had the strangest dream. I dreamed that I was walking through a bizarre outdoor market-place, lined with many-leveled patched tents that had ladders in them. It was bright outside, and light shone through the tents to make everything different colors. And unusual looking people of all shapes and colors (and I mean all colors, including bright blue) were walking through the market in bright colored clothes, buying fresh foods and shiny trinkets. I was there with my dad, and I was wearing a wrist watch that kept beeping. I tried to turn off the beeping, because it was really irritating, but it wouldn't stop. I kept trying to walk through the market place and look at the human (and questionably human) parade going by, and my dad was waiting, tugging on my hand, he wanted to get lunch and I was hungry too, but I had to keep fiddling with the wrist watch to turn off the beeping, which no one else seemed to hear. After awhile, I guess I pressed the right button, cause the beeping stopped, and I was relieved, but worried too, and then just a little ways down the road the beeping started again, but louder! This strange beeping just got louder and made it hard to concentrate on all the new sights, and I really wanted it to stop, so I tried to take off the wrist watch, but I couldn't and I panicked, and then dad was gone and the street was melting away, and that's when I woke up.

And then I rolled over and turned off my alarm clock.

I looooooove my new bike! Did I tell you my mom brought me a new bike when she came to visit? It is so foxy. It's all black, with wide shiny fenders and big handlebars. I put my horn on it, and it just looks wicked. And the wheel isn't falling off, and the breaks work, too! And I feel like a ghost gliding along the paths. I can't even hear myself coming, it's so smooth. Yesterday I kept guiding my bike to ride through puddles just to hear the zip-zip and silence it made. It feels like flying. I've just got to remember that the break is a backpedal and not a hand break, because the first time I got on it, I was on the ground in under 40 seconds because I pushed back on the breaks. Also, shortly after that, I ran face first into a hanging basket trying to figure out how to stop...

I'll probably add to this later today, I've got to study right now. I'm missing you, but I'm working hard and making time for fun too. Give yourself a big hug from me!

Resolving V7 chords and their inversions, as summarized by Ms. Erin E:

-To build a dominant 7th chord, you must first build a major triad (meaning a "snowperson," a.k.a. line-line-line or space-space-space, with a M3 (major third-4 half steps/semitones) on the bottom and a m3 (minor third-3 half steps/semitones) on the top. Then, on top of this major triad, add a m7 (one whole step below tonic, the sub-tonic in the minor key of the root of your major triad), so that you have a "snowperson with a double chin." You now have a V7, or a dominant seventh, chord. It's called a V7, because it is always built on the V (dominant/5th) scale degree of the key it resolves to. This V7 that you just built is in root position (the root note of the chord is on the bottom). It would still be in root position if the root note was on the bottom, but the other notes were rearranged out of order.

-When you build your V7, the root of the chord is also the 5th (dominant) of the scale. The 3rd of the chord is also the 7th (leading tone) of the scale, and the 5th of the chord is also the 2nd (supertonic) of the scale, and the 7th of the chord is also the 4th (subdominant) of the scale.

-When resolving a V7 chord in root position to the key it's in, first mentally put the notes (which may be in any order as long as the bottom note is root) in "snowperson position," that is, stacked on top of each other, so you can figure out which is the root of the chord, which is the leading tone of the key, which is the 5th of the chord, and which is the 7th of the chord. First, your leading tone moves up a semitone to tonic. This is the key you are in. (It would be helpful here to know how many sharps or flats are in this key, so that you may check your I chord resolution)

-Next, the 7th of the chord moves down to become the 3rd of your I chord. If you are resolving to a major key, this 7th moves down a half step/semitone. If you are resolving to a minor key, move the 7th down a whole step. (you can tell if you are resolving to major or minor by whether or not the V7 chord has accidentals in addition to the key signature. If it has an accidental, this means that the minor key signature would call for that note to be a half step lower, but because your V7 is built on a Major triad, it must be raised. You can also tell by analyzing the intervals within your V7 chord. If you find an augmented 4th or a diminished 5th, you will resolve to a major key. If, however, you find either an augmented 2nd or a diminished 7th, you're going to minor) (If you're resolving to a major key, the chord you resolve to is called I, if it's minor, it should be lower case: i.)

-Now, move the root of your V7 chord (the 5th of the key) to tonic, either by moving up a perfect fourth, or down a perfect 5th. This is the root of your I chord.

-Finally, the remaining note in your V7, the 5th of V7 and 2nd of your key, moves either up or down a whole step, according to your preference. You've just resolved a root V7 to a I chord.

-Your V7 may not be complete. What I mean is, you may not see all four voices present in the original V7. If so, the absent voice is the 5th of the chord, and the chord is called incomplete. Incomplete chords are unique, because the repetition of the root of V7 in place of the 5th allows you to tie a common note over into the I chord. This way, you have a note belonging to both chords holding through. Whenever you can do this, you should. It will only happen on incomplete root V7 or inverted V7s, which I'm about to talk about.

-Your chord may not appear in root position. There are three possible inversions of this chord that you need to know about. The first inversion is built on scale degree 7, the leading tone (and 3rd of the chord), then stacked with the 2nd of the key (5th of the chord), 4th of the key (7th of chord), and finally the 5th of the key (root of the chord). The figured bass for this inversion is 6/5/3, abbreviated to 6/5, because the top three notes are, in order, a 3rd, 5th, and 6th, above the bass note. First inversion will appear: line-line-line-adjacent space, or space-space-space-adjacent line. First inversion usually resolves to tonic.

-The second inversion is shown by the figured bass 6/4/3, abbreviated to 4/3, because the notes appear in the 3rd, 4th, and 6th position above the bass note of the chord. The bass note of this chord is scale degree 2, and the 5th of the chord. Above this note are the 4th of the key (7th of chord), 5th of the key (root of the chord), and 7th/leading tone of the key (3rd of chord), respectively. Second inversion appears as two stacked notes in two lines next to each other, line-line space-space or space-space line-line. Second inversion can resolve to either tonic, or the first inversion of tonic I6 (or I6/3).

-The third inversion of a dominant 7th chord is unique, and relatively easy to build. In the words of my theory professor, it's "hot." The figured bass for third inversion of a dominant 7th chord is abbreviated to V4/2, because the positions above the bass note are 6, 4, and 2. (You can build a V4/2 on any note by building a major triad on the note a whole step above your original note.) This inversion is built on scale-degree 4, the 7th of the chord. Because you always resolve the 7th of the chord down a semitone, the bass note of the chord you resolve to will be the 3rd scale degree, making your I chord first inversion, or I6. The V4/2 chord is: 4th scale-degree/7th of chord, 5th scale-degree/root of chord, 7th scale degree/3rd of chord, and 2nd scale degree/5th of chord. It resolves to a tonic chord in first inversion, 3-5-1. The third inversion appears line-space-space-space or space-line-line-line.

-On a root position V7 chord, a complete V7 resolves to an incomplete I, and vice versa. However, when the V7 is inverted, it will be complete, and will resolve to a complete.

-If your V7 is inverted, the resulting I chord should have a common tone with the V7. You should never double the leading tone or chordal 7th of the V7 or its inversion, but you may double the root of the chord (the 5th scale degree), when it appears in both the V7 and the I, as it will in inversions.

My Point: I've written this out for myself, because I needed to organize my thoughts about V7 chords for a test on Friday. I've also written this out for you, though, so that you can see how my brain is rotting from disuse because I'm a music major and don't have to think. Since it's such a soft major and all.

p.s. Please note the SARCASM.

Support and Centripetal Motion

2007-09-29T21:05:00.000-07:00

Simple Pleasures of College Life (excerpts from my weekend so far):

-Taking your clothes and sheets out of the dryer, then immediately donning a warm clean night-gown, slipping between the newly softened and toasty covers, and breathing deep the "Outdoor Fresh Scent" of clean. (as a side note, this new-laundry smell will always make me smile, because of a row of sweet-smelling shirts hanging beside a futon, and the boy who kept them there)

-Centripetal motion in the arms of a competent dance partner. (Tonight I attended the first of the year's monthly contra dances. Contra dancing is kind-of like square dancing, but more fun, with more spins, more partner interaction, and more natural bouncing and leaning. The next dance is Saturday, and I'm going to play in the band! The pianist is writing out the chords for me, I can't wait! And I'll be able to dance as well, which I'm thankful for. Between the swing dancing, the contra dancing, the biking and the rock-climbing, I'm gonna be in such good shape when you get me back! Except I'm eating ice cream with every meal... but it's not my fault, they have cinnamon, how am I supposed to resist that?!)

-Cinnamon ice cream.

-Hugs from the ones you love. (Mom and Grammy are here visiting! Everything seems so much better because of that. I've been showing them around campus and catching up on news.... but really, I'm just soaking in/storing up love to hold me over till fall break.)

-Sleeping. I do love to sleep. In fact, I think I'll go get some sleep right now. (Wooo, yeah!)

Tension and Release

2007-09-25T20:08:00.000-07:00

Have you ever noticed how close rain is to jazz? The waves of rhythmic tip-tap, and the quick succession of heavy and light beats, the different qualities of sound as it strikes different surfaces, how the feeling of it lingers in the air-- It's really very beautiful, soothing, even sensual. There's something both intimate and extravagant in these little outbursts. The rain on my window makes a solid percussive Tap Tap Tap, heavy and settled. Through leaves, rain whispers and hisses, fwooosh fwish shhhhhh, soft and introspective. Swishing and sloshing through gutters, it's more melodic, more determined, that must be the solo. Then when there's thunder and wind, groaning and quick change, that's when every thing's really soaring. Maybe the air is always full of music, and it just fills up and packs tight, until it's so heavy that it lets go. Tension and release, silence and music- rain makes the most beautiful cycles.

Today the air was thick, heavy, and full of expectations. It fit in close around me, and I knew it was a hug, because it felt so much like humid days at home. I'm missing home at strange times. I'm not thinking of home when I've got papers due or when I have no work to do, like a lot of folks. I miss home when my bike makes strange Ethel-Mermanlike squeals, and when there's a particularly juicy joke. I miss home under the big oak tree on North Quad, when I see red socks, in psychology lectures, and when I eat saltines, oddly enough. Sometimes I miss home in the conspicuous absence of "yall" and "g'mornin." Other times, I'm thinking of home for good reasons, like victories. For instance, I got my first Page to Stage paper back today, and did pretty well on it. I'm learning to identify intervals and scale degrees by ear. I'm not making mistakes anymore on the figured bass of diminished and augmented triad inversions. My bow arm is starting to do what I tell it to when I need volume and power. Exciting stuff is happening, that I have to share (and yes, brag, sometimes)! There are new people to tell this to, of course, people I like and have a lot in common with, and they're great. But sometimes I want to tell you, and that's when I miss you most of all.

Warning: DO NOT go to Serious Events, including but not limited to rehearsals, lectures, and/or study sessions, with a silly song stuck in your head. Such combinations may result in inopportune giggling, glares from authority figures, and the incongruous mental image of hearing nonsensical words issue from the mouths of the Stern and Authoritarian. Nonsense is not a joke.

The Talk of Toes

2007-09-22T21:48:00.000-07:00

I can't speak Toe, but if I could, I'm sure I'd be hearing a lot of angry words right about now (especially from my big toes). Toes are silly and self-pitying appendages, though, and I don't care a bit about them, because I feel fantastic. I've been spinning and tapping and twirling and laughing since 9 o'clock this evening, at the 2nd official college Swing Dance. I earned my Gryffindor colors today; I embarked on this adventure all by myself (well ok, I knew folks who were gonna be there, but still!), not knowing the first thing about swing dancing, with only my fancy dress to assist me! So here was lonely little me, standing to a side staring in wonder at my talented and coordinated peers, and almost immediately I made eye contact with a friendly guy in need of a partner, who knew enough of the basics to teach me, but not so much that he was completely frustrated with me. And after a few dances, once we'd gotten the hang of step-step-rock-step and a few turns, my partner lead me into the very competent arms of his friend, who taught me the art of form and following, and comforted me with the wisdom that, whenever a mistake is made, it's always the guy's fault (if only this were true in life as well as dancing!).

From then on, if I wasn't dancing, it was only because I was guzzling down water, reapplying deodorant, or panting into the cool night air. Under the careful tutelage of a series of patient partners, I learned some things that impressed even me, and failed spectacularly in many amusing ways as well. The saxophone from my jazz band was there, my stand partner from orchestra, Cloak Guy from sci-fi hall (who's going to help me throw a swing dance in starlight lounge, though he doesn't know it yet...), and so many interesting people, but I won't pull a Mrs. Bennett and bore you with describing them all. I had a wonderful time, I'm still spinning and singing in me head! There's no sleeping now, that's for sure!

In other news, today there was a Dog festival on Tappan Square. I didn't realize this until I was walking to the conservatory this morning, and groggily asked some stranger why there were tents and people with speakers and little dogs running around. She replied casually "oh, it's the Doggy Doo, happens every year." I went and found a yorkshire terrier and a poodle mixed with something that looked like a wheaton, and thought of home.

I also discovered, out of pure dumb luck, a place that may soon become my sanctuary. I'm talking about the Ginko gallery. The window display pulled me in, and what I discovered inside will bring me back. The shop boasts a large selection of quality art supplies for decent prices. Kneaded erasers, brush pens, Microns, charcoal- everything I could think of to need, I saw there. Also, the back room of the shop currently plays host to 7 adorable little kittens, 5 black and two gray. The shop keeps kittens for some sort of cat adoption program, and encourages college students to play with them, to get them used to people. Me and my new friends were greatly amused by the movements of a peacock feather and several small brightly-colored balls.

High Adventure (no, not that kind)

2007-09-17T11:35:00.001-07:00

Briefly, in my bass world...
-This weekend I went to Cleveland with some other Oberlin basses to hear a bass concert. It was like a family reunion, basses from all over the area were there. I saw some of my friends from Pittsburgh and folks from SMI, and got to know my Oberlin peers a lot better (which is inevitable, I suppose, when you squeeze five bassists in one small car for extended periods of time.) It was definitely worth the drive (and the homework I had to stay up late doing afterwards).
-I'm revamping my left hand technique to be more efficient. My fingers naturally want to fly too high off the string and my pinky is doing silly things just to tease me, and refusing to change. It's very tedious and frustrating.
-Tuesday night at 9:00, I will be facing my first bass performance at Oberlin. Ok, it's nothing so dramatic as that really. I'm playing the Prelude to the 1st Bach cello suite in studio class, to get comments from the other bassists. I'm going to be ok. Really. Really, damnit! And it's not intimidating at all....

It is much easier to ride a bike in a short skirt than in a long one, as long as...
-you remember to straddle your bike and slide backwards to get on.
-you check your skirt when you dismount to make sure it's a) still on and b) hanging properly.
-you are a foxy lady!

Getting locked out of your room is considerably less fun when...
-your dorm is very cold, you just took a shower, and your flower-power flip-flops make loud flapping noises.
-you have only one towel, and it's too busy covering other things to protect your cold wet hair.
-the RA with the keys is an attractive male, who lives in the hall labeled "hawt menz," and is, of course, asleep.

(following the incident referred to above, I got one of the guys from rock-star hall to pierce my nose, and have begun wearing my room key as trendy jewelry. I'm sorry, dad, I know you said nothing permanent, but I really felt it was the most prudent course of action, and though I have to contort into some odd positions in order to open my door, I am proud to say I have not been locked out since.)

Burnt Sienna

2007-09-14T22:43:00.001-07:00

God, whatever else he or she or it may be, is an artist, this much I'm sure of. This evening the sky was painted in such vibrant, aching, eye-searing colors that frazzled students and heartless professors alike were frozen by it's warmth. For moments out of time, the sidewalk became a sculpture garden, and every face turned heavenward was bathed in light, and groaning-gorgeous hues that were never squeezed from a tube. Each vagrant remnant of the day's drizzles cradled a glowing ember. The light shone right through the dipped-gold upper reaches of the Tappan oaks and maples, so that the pattern of overlapping leaves was like intricate, colorful lace. Wherever His paintbrush fell, on the chestnut locks of my roommate, on the bronze roof of the bell tower, and on my own cheeks, a swathe of gold glistened and shimmered like unearthly silk. Despite the unreasonably cold weather that these foolish Northerners take as a matter of course, tonight as I felt this kiss of light and color on my face, I was warm through and through.

This has been a long day of a long week. As my reward for being so good (well, as good as I can reasonably be) I gave myself free non-academic reign over my evening and when all my scholarly dues were paid, I went to a hip concert in a hip joint (get it, hip joint?). Jazz students from the conservatory were making delicious sounds in the Cat and the Cream, and I was there to lap it all up. The occasion, of course, required proper attire. My blood-red spike-heel Lady of the Night boots fit the bill quite nicely. Therefore when I tell you that the music was even sexier than my footwear, I am saying something significant. I had a blast- and a cookie! A famous "cat cookie" which, and I say this with no reservations, earned its reputation and more in the first gooey bite.

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Today I learned that:

-when you put an already-tight cotton shirt in the dryer, it becomes skanky (or a fashion statement for the hip pre-school crowd, depending on the shirt).
-The sci-fi lounge has a tap just for boiling hot water that is extremely convenient. Because all-night nerding sessions and hot tea go so well together. (as all night nerding veteran, I can say that. You best watch it.)
-among poor college students, knowledge is valuable tender (in other words, I'm getting jazz lessons in exchange for Bach lessons, and it's GROOVY BABY)

Isabella, You Sexy Thing (I Believe in Miracles)

2007-09-12T20:13:00.000-07:00

I can't talk long., really I shouldn't be here at all, but I couldn't resist. Tonight the universe (and the "random" feature of iTunes) played a joke on me that, upon further reflection, seemed very appropriate.

For my Page to Stage theater class, I've been reading Shakespeare's Measure for Measure. Tonight marked my third attempt at deciphering Act II, and I needed a pick-me-up. I turned on my computer and let Fortune pick the soundtrack for the downfall of poor Angelo and Isabella. I laughed out loud when the universe replied in the voice of Barry White. That Shakespeare and Barry White, two of humanities great artists (connected by their common obsession) should sing such a duet brightened my evening considerably. Happy chance got me through Isabella's first meeting with Angelo (You Sexy Thing), and I switched off the random while Angelo and I made a Decision (What am I Gonna Do With You?). Because really, Willy, I Can't Get Enough of Your Love Babe.

Sunday brownies were a hit, by the way. If I keep this up, me and my chocolate goodies are well on our way to being the most popular sweet things in this dorm.

I'm going to be in a jazz band with Maggie, the trumpet from Cali and my hallmate, Erin, a pianist, and Caitlin, a saxaphone/vocalist from Page to Stage. None of us actually know how to play jazz, but that won't stop us. Our first rehearsal (jam session? gathering of awesomosity?) is tomorrow, and I cannot even tell you in words how FRICKIN STOKED I am.

I should be working. Wow should I be working. Oh well, sleep is over-rated. (Just kidding, mom :-D) Goodnight!

Pennies From Heaven and a Sense of Sloth

2007-09-08T17:57:00.000-07:00

This morning, when, upon rolling over and squinting at my alarm clock, it said to me "it's Saturday, it's early, go back to sleep," I happily obeyed. Lazy, rainy days are certainly some of the best. My bed is soft and warm, and the hum of my fan is a lullaby that, in the slow syrupy sweetness of Saturday morning, I feel no need to resist. I hope you took advantage of your Saturday morning and did something delicious, something like...nothing! If you actually got up for some ridiculous reason like jogging or homework, please don't tell me, I don't want it to rub off. Give this girl a lazy languid luxurious lounging looooong lethargic lie-in, and I'll hear none of this "gym" or "early breakfast."

Despite the wonderful picture I'm painting of my lazy day, I'll admit that I got some decent practicing in. I even did homework, I'm sorry to say. Mostly though, I stayed in bed, or under the awning outside of the student center, and listened to the rain...

P.S. I can only pick up packages when the mail-room is open, which, unfortunately, leaves a very limited window for weekends, which I missed by a mile. I'll pick it up on Monday. XOXO, Erin

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A long time ago
A million years BC
The best things in life
Were absolutely free
But no one appreciated
A sky that was always blue
And no one congratulated
A moon that was always new
So it was planned that they would vanish, now and them
And you must pay before you get them back again
That's what storms were made for
And you shouldn't be afraid for...

Every time it rains, it rains
Pennies from heaven
Don't you know each cloud contains
Pennies from heaven

You'll find your fortune falling
All over town
Be sure that your umbrella
is upside down

Trade them for a package of
sunshine and flowers
If you want the things you love
You must have showers

So when you hear it thunder
Don't run under a tree,
There'll be pennies from heaven
for you and me.

Skirt-biking 101

2007-09-07T22:20:00.000-07:00

When Biking across campus in a long skirt, be sure to:
-try tucking the edges of your skirt into your waistband. When shocked bystanders gawk at you, smile and wave.
-admire the way the fabric billows in the wind, and attempt not to give your classmates too much to admire in their turn.
-stop when you get caught and FIX IT.
-grow a brain and walk.

Developmental Psychology is very likely going to be my favorite class. The textbook, at least, is very interesting, and the professor is adorable (in that bumbling professor way). Also, I share this class with one of my favorite hall-mates, the trumpet from California, Miss Maggie.

I had my first Oberlin test today, in music theory. If you'll excuse me saying so, I kicked its ass In fact, I kicked that test so hard, it circled the globe twice before it splattered pavement. Actually, I don't know this for sure. But I'm trying to be an optimist here!

I hate to shortchange you two nights in a row, but not as much as I love my beauty sleep, so I'm ending this here. More soon!

Sleepy Time, yes?

2007-09-06T18:35:00.001-07:00

Facts and Thoughts In No Particular Order:

After all that waffling about whether or not it's wise to take Swing, it meets during my Monday night orchestra rehearsal anyways. The other ExCo's I want to take also conflict with my current schedule, and/or fall on Tuesday, my crazy day. I think my hall is going to start a girls' club based on one of the class concepts anyway, promoting self-indulgence and impractical fun.

I also found out today that only two basses play in the opera concerts, which means that I will get about a month and a half off of my 7-hour-a-week rehearsals just when I will probably need it most, though I won't get to play in the opera.

Tomorrow I have my second bass lesson. I'm kind of nervous about it, because how it goes will have a large impact on how my semester in general is going to be.

My roommate won a voice audition that she has been worried about, and we're going to celebrate with dinner and ice cream in downtown Obieland. Hmmm, so which of the two restaurants should we bless with our patronage? :-)

For future reference, if I skip a few days on this blog, or write one that's particularly rushed (like this one), it means I'm too busy having adventures to stop and sit with my computer.

Concert Dates

2007-09-05T11:48:00.000-07:00

Some of you have expressed an interest in the Oberlin Chamber Orchestra schedule. Here are the concert dates, as I currently know them:

Orchestra Concert: Sunday September 30, 8pm in Finney Chapel:
Ginastera ...Piano Concerto No. 1
Brahms ...Symphony No. 1

Opera Concert: November 14, 16, 17, 18 in Hall Auditorium (W/F/Sat at 8pm, Sun at 2pm:
Britten ...A Midsummer Night's Dream

Orchestra Concert: Wednesday, December 12, 8pm Finney Chapel:
Concerto TBA
Beethoven ...Symphony No. 5

Orchestra Concert: Friday February 29, 2008 8pm Finney Chapel:
Bartok ...Divertimento
Concerto TBA
Ravel ...Le Trombeau de Couperin

Orchestra Concert: Saturday April 5 2008 8pm in Finney Chapel
Berlioz ...Le Corsaire
Student Composition TBA
Tchaikovsky ...Swan Lake Suite

Chorus/Orchestra Concert: Sunday May 4 2008, 8pm Finney Chapel
Mendelssohn ...Elijah

Sense and Self-Preservation

2007-09-04T18:54:00.000-07:00

Ever since that bike ride, certain parts of my anatomy still complain every time my bike hits a bump in the sidewalk. I'm trying to wince with as much dignity as I can muster.

Today was a humbling day, not just because I was constantly reminded of my physical inadequacy every time I sat down, but also because I've realized just how little I know, and just how ordinary I am in this environment. In many ways this being ordinary is a convenient thing. It's much easier to find good food, and fun things to go to. In other ways I'll admit that it is a a blow. I will try not to sacrifice health for the desire to exceed expectations. (It is ok for me to say that, by the way. The next person who says that to me who is not me will not be well received.)

I've realized just how hard this semester is going to be. I'm actually quite grouchy about parts of it. Luckily I have my folders to console me (see Pretty Folders).

Tuesday is the day that the registrar designed to kill me, as payback for changing my schedule so many times. At 9 am I attend Aural Skills I. The freshman ritual of listing out classes has lost its amusement for me since, inevitably, the name of this particular class is greeted by snickers, confusion, and the need to spell a-u-r-a-l. (It is an unfortunate coincidence that Aural Skills happens to be taught by Professor Cox.) I actually think this will be an excellent class to wake up to, because the first thing we do is jump around and stretch. Also, the professor reminds me of someone I like and respect, and that is cheering. She's so passionate about her dull subject it's inspiring. She waxed poetic today about the personalities of quarter beats, and the wimpy, therapeutic nature of the perfect fourth. I immediately liked her. I hope I will still be able to say that in a few months, when I am struggling to make myself care about the leading tone in a movable do harmonic minor bliggity blah. Luckily everyone in that class seems to be as clueless as I am.

Music theory is going to be difficult and horribly boring. But really, the thing I think I'll have the most trouble doing in music theory class is keeping a straight face. Between the antics of the voice majors (who are always good for a laugh, and that's not a stereotype, but a fact), and the professor's intentional and unintentional jokes... I came out of that class and went straight to the bathroom to laugh my head off and calmly reattach it for...

From Page to Stage! This will undoubtedly be both my favorite and hardest class, with the possible exclusion of Developmental Psychology, which is tomorrow). In this class we read scripts, see plays, perform scenes, write reviews and analysis of these plays, and possibly write our own plays. It's going to be awesome. I cannot wait to get started. This class runs the risk of eating all my time, because I will want all my papers to be perfect, and all my scenes to be artistic and insightful. I will have to run periodic checks on myself for that.

Orchestra was actually rather depressing. I mean, the music was beautiful of course, and on the first reading. We're playing Brahms' Symphony No. 1 and Ginastera's Piano Concerto No. 1. The Brahms is very exciting and challenging, but also frustrating. There was no way I was going to be able to sight read that music. And, of course, I didn't, not without making some very embarrassing mistakes. All the other freshmen basses are in the other orchestra, which is kind of sad too. My stand partner is a mute. Well no, not really, but she so far has not lowered herself by conversing with a lowly first-year. And the guy on my left just talks to the tuba every time the (very intimidating) conductor lowers her baton.

All of my hall-mates are getting sick. It's very worrying. I've been eating, partying, and otherwise spending most of my time in close proximity with them all week, and they're really sweet/fun girls, but I'm not keen on joining them in the puke-fest. I'm trying to keep my distance. If my roommate gets sick, that connecting door is staying closed. No, I'd take care of her...but I'd wear a face mask.

I'm still not sure whether or not it's wise to add my swing class on top of everything else, but I've done stupider things before and survived, so I'm going to try it.

Anyway, I miss you, and don't tell me not to because I can't help it. But tomorrow should be a much better day. Developmental Psychology is going to be great.

Goodnight!

A Train Wreck

2007-09-02T17:46:00.001-07:00

Today, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I took pain medication because of something strenuous that I did on purpose, rather than something stupid that I did on accident. I am talking about the Bike Co-op trip to the site of the Great Kimpton Train Wreck. About thirty of us exercise junkies made this 12 mile trek through Ohio fields and forests, with the hope of free "refreshments" spurring us on. On the way, I gained new knowledge that I would like to share with you now:

There is no such thing as a "leisurely" 12-mile bike trip, especially when all your companions have racing bikes.

Gears can be your friend if you know how to use them. If you don't, they laugh at your pain. Six miles is a very long time to be on the wrong gear. Remember, the highest gear is for downhill, the lowest is for uphill. Or is it the other way around?

Your bike seat should be high enough to fully extend your legs, about to the bottom of your pubic bone when you stand next to it.

Campus is surrounded by beautiful woods and streams, and fields which have been left fallow and are full or wildflowers. Even in September, the wildflowers of Lorrain county are gorgeous.

My allergies in Ohio are not nearly as bad as they are in Louisville- unless I'm riding through fields of wildflowers.

Tea is not adequate hydration for hard-core exercise.

Sore buns do not like wooden stools.

In other news, I think I got all my scheduling problems sorted out. We'll see.

A very long day

2007-09-01T22:44:00.001-07:00

Today was the most wonderful day. First, I slept in, a luxury that must be mentioned. I lounged on my bed for awhile, savoring the feeling of having nothing I had to do. In fact, I was lounging and lollygaging, and other lazy words that begin with L, for most of the morning. Even with this late start, I managed to have an incredibly full day.

My first stop was the gym near my dorm, which has its very own rock wall and set of belayers. I am now an expert in the fisherman's knot, double figure-8 knot, and naked figure-8, climbing commands, and all the practicals of climbing (well, no, not an expert, but I will be). Then, when I finally got to say the words "on belay" and "climbing," I went up so many times that my arms were trembling and I had to stop, so that I didn't ruin my strength for my orchestra audition.

My audition was successful, I think. It was made more stressful by the two hour delay, all of which I spent in the practice room playing while trying not to exhaust myself, pacing, and lying in my bass case. I was disappointed in my Bach performance, not because it was bad, but because I practiced it so much and was really pleased with how it was starting to sound in the p-room, and that's not the way it came out at all. They only ended up asking for 2 of the 7 excerpts set to us, the Mozart 40th and the Brahms Haydn Variations. I botched the beginning of the Mozart, but redeemed myself by the end. The Brahms went pretty well. There were too many mistakes overall, but my sound and musicality were solid, and I think I made a good impression. I was placed in the Chamber Orchestra, which plays the older music and meets M-T-Th. The other freshmen basses I know were put in the Oberlin Orchestra, which plays the larger, usually romantic, stuff, but I'm still very excited about my placement. I can always try to be in the other next semester.

The first of the evenings entertainment was a hypnotist who got everyone laughing and talking. It was a good icebreaker activity for orientation, and pretty entertaining. He made me drowsy though.

The swing dance was amazing! Did I tell you there was a swing dance? Well there was, and wow can some of these Obies dance. It was thrilling to watch, and I even learned a few basic steps. I cannot wait for the ExCo! Anyway, while trying to imitate people who actually knew what they were doing, and outright gaping at some of their smooth moves (I'm determined that that will be me someday), I was hunting for someone cool to take the ExCo with (because my hall-mates want to do silly things with their semester like study, and sleep :-), and had very little success. I'd given up on finding someone, and determined to take my chances, and headed out to the bonfire (where I had enough s'mores to cover my face and hands with marshmallow goo and be thoroughly satisfied), after which my hall-mates and I went to the 'sco to get our groove on. I almost didn't go, because I was so tired, emotionally and physically, from my day already, but I did go, and it's a good thing because, lo and behold, the first person I danced with wanted to take the swing exCo! Sometimes things just come together like that.

If you've read this entire post (which, if you have, good for you, give yourself a high-five) you'll understand why I am now completely exhausted, and have nothing more to say to you except goodnight.

Life Lessons

2007-09-01T07:45:00.000-07:00

What I've learned so far in college:
-Eating bread is bed is a bad idea. The crumbs get hard. Honey-covered bread is also not something I recommend.
-If you leave the cereal box open, it goes stale FAST.
-The marker board will never be used on your door, and that will just make you sad. Put it on your closet so you can remember things.
-If you have a nagging feeling you've forgotten something, you probably have.
-People who practice percussion in the dorms should be executed.
-Once you have claimed a TV and VHS player, you must guard them with your sanity. There is no room for mercy when it comes to movie time. Upperclassmen may feel entitled to watch their TV shows while freshies are watching a movie. Silent staring in response is surprisingly effective, especially when done in groups.
-Practice too much one day, and it hurts to play the next.
-Even in a music conservatory, singing and dancing to yourself as you travel is still odd.

The Man, and other ramblings

2007-08-31T10:25:00.001-07:00

I probably look pretty goofy right now. That is because my mouth is stuck in a permanent 'o' of surprise and amazement. How can a community of roughly 3000 people living in a cornfield possibly have this much going on?! I've been seeing flyers everywhere with messages of wonder that literally stop me in my tracks. There are flyers telling me that for just $1, I too can be awesome and go rock climbing with the studs, brightly colored missives encouraging me to audition for the 10 minute play festival, to write for the irreverent but amusing Grape magazine, to submit cartoons, to dance the night away to bumping rock or sizzling jazz, to attend this concert and that opening, to learn to sing/play steel drums/analyze cartoons, to join join join! There is so much to do, I don't know what to do with myself!

I was supposed to meet with my private bass teacher today for advice on the conservatory end of registration (which is a cracked out system, by the way, since my window to register for classes ended this morning, before my appointment). It wouldn't have mattered if I registered after my meeting, however, because there was no meeting. None of the bass faculty are here. We little (and not so little) lost basses are alone, stranded in the sinking/stinking quagmire that is PRESTO.

My room is already accumulating a nice layer of stuff, and starting to feel like home.

Important Advice

2007-08-30T14:40:00.000-07:00

It's easier to start new habits and break old when when all sense of normality is suddenly turned on its side. For instance, so far since I've been here, I've begun drinking coffee (out of necessity, because my roommate and I can be crazy chatterboxes when we should be sleeping), which I never used to (I put a pack of hot chocolate in it, so it's more like a mocha), and have been eating much healthier than I did over summer break (because half the campus seems to be vegetarian, so there's a lot of good food readily available).

I've got a lot to tell you. I've been too busy with orientation activities to post lately, so this is gonna be a super-post.

I met with my college adviser today. He's one of the psych proffessors, and he's very friendly and open, and seems like he's willing to go the extra bit to help me out. He helped me sort out a problem with my conservatory scheduling. I think he's someone I'd be comfortable talking to if I needed help.

Also, my roommate is awesome. She's from New Jersey, and she's going to teach me self-defense. We've been getting along really well, I feel like I know her already. She's friendly, but not aggressively so, and we've been hanging out together but also giving each other space, which, for me, is perfect.

It's a beautiful day today. There's a nice cool breeze, and the sun's shining. I've been getting my exercise walking everywhere (my dorm is the farthest away from everything, but that's not saying much since campus is small). I've even gotten to use my bike for longer treks. Biking makes me feel like a fool though, because I haven't done it in years and I'm really clumsy about it. I'm still figuring out how to turn and stop without having to stick my leg out and catch myself. It's a work in progress.

I've met so many great people, but I can't keep all their names straight. I'm going to make a database with everything I know about these people, so I can remember. Anyway, I'm making a special effort to remember all the details about the bassists I meet, since I'll be spending a lot of time with them.

shoot, I gotta go. More later!

----------------
from The Grape, the Alternative Student Newspaper

Miss Manners' Dos and Dont's; the Freshmen's Guide to Not Being a Complete Tool

Don't assume anyone else is a freshmen, no matter how young and confused they look.

Don't ask for directions. Nothing on campus is far enough away that you won't find it if you just walk around in circles for a hour or so, and chances are you're standing right next to it anyway.

Do experiment with hallucinogens

Don't wear your f***ing key-card around your neck. Christ.
(see mom! It's not cool. By the way, that bet...you're both losing (I have all my keys))

Anyway, I need to sleep, because for some obscene reason I have to go to registration tomorrow morning at too:early AM. UGGGUH.

Fearless

2007-08-25T21:13:00.000-07:00

Lately the noise in my head has been so loud that I can hardly sit still (yes, even more so than usual). This happens especially when it's inconvenient (when I'm attempting to sleep, for instance). Sometimes my thoughts fly by so fast that I barely know what they were before they're gone. It's like being in a beehive, where every thing's zipping around me in a pattern that I don't understand, and all the buzzing is so deafening I can't pick one bee out from her sister. I've been searching for things to quiet this ruckus. One thing I've found that works is making music with my good friend Darcy. Darcy is the name I came up with for my bass when my bass students decided their instruments needed names and personalities (possibly my favorite bass to work with was Marshmallow. Gotta love kids. ).

Playing bass can be one of the most pleasurable and calming things I know how to do. Here I make an important distinction between two radically different concepts; playing bass for enjoyment, and practicing bass because it is necessary to improve. Playing for pleasure feels like taking a long toe-curling-hot bath, with extra scented bubbles (apple cider is my favorite, then peppermint), candles, and a frivolous feminine novel. It's a sensual, empowering experience that pulls the unraveling tendrils and offshoots of whatever I am feeling, and pulls back into my skin. I can get lost in perfecting a single phrase, and forget my body and room focusing on the undulating strokes of my bow, trying to smooth edges and seal cracks. I use to get that feeling all the time, and get drunk with it, and lose hours that I never saw pass.

The feeling now disappears instantly the moment I bring it into focus for a goal that comes from outside of me. This is extremely frustrating and inconvenient, because at the moment I need most to practice, the motivation becomes that much harder to summon up. Playing to make something better is joy. Practicing to make a better audition or impression is tedious and frustrating. When I cannot summon up the lazy pleasure of playing, I bring a store of guilt out for a motivator. Guilt can make me a better bassist, but not a happy one. I think the key to becoming a calmer, more confident person (who is more pleasant to be around and doesn't snap act childish) is to make these outward goals into my inward goals. If I can find some way to get that feeling when I'm going through the necessary motions, I could be obscenely happy.

I don't think I can blame all of my current agitation on my continuing failure to bring my orchestral audition excerpts to where I want them, however. Usually when I feel like this, it's due to something more simple and obvious. Perhaps the fact that I'm about to leave my childhood home and assume full responsibility for myself as an adult has something to do with it? I'd be crazy not to be a little jumpy about that. I've often heard that misery loves company. I'm not miserable, of course, don't get me wrong! I was only going to acknowledge that perhaps being scared s*%&less also wants company. That is why it is fortunate that every freshmen I meet will be going through exactly the same thing. While I will never admit, in person, to these new friends the weakness of being frightened, I am more than willing to bond over our mutual fear.

Fear. I said it. I. am. afraid. I now must say something irreverent and saucy to cover...

Anyway, let's end this ridiculously long post with something that looks forward, something to smile at. Something like

Hope.

I've decided that it's good for me to write down my thoughts in this (semi)organized way. It forces me to put them in order and hold them in one place. Usually when I decide something is "good for me" it's something unpleasant or inconvenient, such as monitoring my protein or sleeping regularly. I think this new habit of journaling for an audience, which at first seemed like a pointless, contradictory and even arrogant waste of precious time, may prove to be an enjoyable, much needed catharsis.

The Wager

2007-08-24T15:01:00.000-07:00

I finished my afghan today. If I had a digital camera, I'd model it for you, and put up a whole series of the beginning of our life together ('this is me and my afghan at Krogers...here we are in the pie and ice cream kitchen, oh look! here's us at the movies! Isn't she a beaut?!'). For now, just know that it is a bed warmer fit for a queen, and a perfectly productive and practical use of 50 hours :-).

So today I went outside, and I said "Jeez, it's frickin hot out here!" and I went back inside. And that's the end of my story. But seriously, what is with this crazy heat right now?! I had my misgivings about going to college up North, but I would rather wear itchy wool long-johns 24/7 than go cross-eyed and slimy with heat exhaustion every time I go out to trim my roses! Bring on the cold!

I went to lunch with my dad today, which was great, because he knows downtown restaurants like they're his best friends. We always go somewhere new, and it's always delicious. Dad gave me some excellent advice, which I will now share with you. He says not to put a red towel in with your whites in the wash, because it will turn all your underwear pink. These are wise words, which I think you should live by (even though, after further discussion, we decided that having lots of pink underwear wouldn't be so bad). We settled a few things as well; mom and dad will not be buying a small house in Ohio. I will not join a vegan cult. I will be able to come home sometimes, and I better not bring smelly laundry.

I do not yet have more exciting news for you, because you are gone, and I am here. I'm hitting the town tonight, though, maybe I'll see Michelle Pfeifer, or get robbed or something and then interviewed for TV. If so, I'll be sure and tell you.

I found out today that my parents have a bet going on how long it will take me to lose the key to my bike lock. Neither one will tell me their predictions. I guess they don’t want to skew the results. I’ll let you know who wins.

Pretty Folders!

2007-08-23T17:35:00.000-07:00

Some days, I am ready to arrive, to face my Brave New World in Collegteown, Cornfield, but not ready to go. Then, other days, I am extremely ready to go (especially on days when I get three phone calls from friends already throwing out their dice in the real world, and go to sparsely populated parties where I can arrogantly indulge in thoughts such as “that’s so high school”). Today, I think I might be just plain ready. All the way ready.

Of course, the ready I’m talking about is an emotional ready. As far as packing and shopping go, I’ve been ready. I’ve got all the basics: towels, sheets, shower shoes, a sexy but functional floor lamp, impractical undergarments (kidding, Spice, only kidding), bed risers, several Eskimo costumes... And the necessary dorm decorations are all in order. My massive tie-dye tapestry (a staple for every college-bound hippie,), my favorite Chagall print, Mozart (the action figure), and my photo board (which covers everything from my brother’s birth to my senior prom) will soon abandon the walls of my childhood sanctuary to bring life to the fluorescent-lit concrete cubicle of a dorm room that I will, from September to December, call home. My brother even painted a self-portrait for me, with a hug to go with it! I think Squirt might even miss me (if only because he will soon be the sole recipient of all of my parents’ considerable scrutiny and affection).

In addition to dorm necessities, I have created what must be the most beautiful address book that ever will bless a college campus. If only my college success hinged on the aesthetics of my folders and notebooks, I would certainly excel. As it is, I’ll admit to being worried about the coming change. Will I be brave enough not to get lonely? Practical enough to avoid illness and the “freshman fifteen?” Silly enough to keep laughing at what I’ve been ensured is gravely serious? My mother, at least, seems to have faith that I will be all of these things, in time. In fact, I find it very reassuring that one of her greatest concerns is whether or not I will remember to choke down the oblong cannonballs she calls vitamins, every morning before my calcium-enriched juice. I hope to prove her right.

Even when I manage to fail spectacularly, which I am sure to do, I have high hopes that college will provide many opportunities for laughter, scowling, and possibly even mad cackling. In other words, it will be a Grand Adventure. Here I will post tales of my exploits, (and those of Darcy the bass, my faithful companion) so that you can experience, along with me, the terrors and triumphs of being a college freshwoman.

Today I slept embarrassingly late. This is because I do not have sense. That is, I probably have some sense stored away, but if so I am choosing to save it for a rainy day. Case in point: last night, I went to a fancy party. I was late leaving, because this summer I’ve become a girl, and decided I should look pretty, and so spent an exorbitant amount of time struggling towards this end before giving up. When I got to the party, I had several nasty shocks in a row, and hours of hip swiveling (doing the Twist, of course) and eager discussion of other people’s affairs were required before I felt enough like myself to drive home. Of course, once I got home, it was far too noisy to sleep; the shouts from my bookshelves had wedged their way into my lack of thoughts. And then of course, there were folders to be decorated. I will not even tell you what time my yawns finally did defeat these compulsions. It will only prove to you, as it has to me, that I am not qualified to determine my own sleep schedule.