little john, tanto, watson, and george e. russel

When I was thirteen I wrote a novel, in which I was the main character. When you are young, you are, of course, always the main character of your story. As you get older, you realize other people play significant roles. But when you are thirteen, you are the heroine no matter what. In this novel, I became concertmaster of my orchestra (a goal for any young violinist in any sort of orchestra). Concertmaster is first chair, first violin, and it is the most respected position in the orchestra. If there is no conductor, the concertmaster leads. The concertmaster gets to walk on stage last in concerts, and they get their own applause. The concertmaster tunes the orchestra. The concertmaster always gets to shake the hand of the conductor after the concert, and also the hand of any soloist that might have performed. (On some occasions the soloist might get excessive amounts of flowers that they will generously pass along to the concertmaster)

The first chair of the second violin section is second best. To be Principal Second Violin is to submit to the Concertmaster is as a wife does to a husband (that is, not all the time :) ) and also to help decide bowings, and to lead the other half of the violins. Principal Second is not a glorious position, but it is a very important one, kind of like a janitor. People don’t usually pay attention to janitors, but oh, if that janitor is a bad janitor, people will notice. Such is the case with the Principal Second.

Within the last year and a half, I have realized what a good second violinist I am. I am very good at being second in command. I am very good at playing supporting roles to people. I am very good at taking charge, but I hate being the center of attention. These are all things I have realized about myself over the last year or so. Maybe I wouldn’t make a good heroine of this story, but I make a good sidekick.

Tonight, my best friend was concertmaster, and I was principal second, and together we led the orchestra in a valiant journey of music. We took the rolling hills and deserts and trolls by storm! We were Joan and Arc, except we did not get burnt at the stake. We were Elizabeth 1 and Bloody Mary, this time joined in a sisterhood and friendship, conquering all obstacles. We were Anne Bonney and Mary Read, off to Zanzibar, to wherever the wind may take us.

Today, my thirteen-year-old dream came true, and I am exhausted.

teacher! see my pretty buttons!

at the beginning of my blog, i wrote "Lizza, your blog may be about the beginnings of adulthood, but my blog is still about surviving college... haha." But it has since evolved into the beginnings of adulthood despite my first impressions of my writings. I think I've grown a lot over the last year, and especially this summer - I became used to being a college graduate. I made my schedule. I worked full time. I slept and ate and looked like an adult, talked like an adult. (except for the brief times that I was in maryland- but even maryland wasnt bad) (thank you, Lizza, for getting married and helping mom and dad to not treat us like 13 year olds)

beginning of the semester. All these bright eyed, bushy tailed college freshmen. Was I really that young? My thoughts were sentimental and nostalgic, watching them take baby steps into independance. I briefly wished for those days back.

Then classes started. And my professors said the same things. The same. Old. Usual. Things. We. frickin. know. by. now.

And an old professor imitated the pubescent voice of a disorganized young college student "but professor, i lost the form." I watched this, thinking - "wow. what do you really think of kids my age?"

(Most) professors don't have high expectations of their students. And if they have any sort of expectations, they don't have respect.

Arnold Schoenburg, known for the New Viennese School of music (maybe best known for developing 12-tone theory), wrote a textbook, Theory of Harmony - but the preface is a lovely! article about teaching and comfort and... a lot of other things, but there was a quote that really stood out to me.

"But the teacher must have the courage to admit his own mistakes. He does not have to pose as infallible, as one who knows all and never errs; he must rather be tireless, constantly searching,perhaps sometimes finding. Why pose as a demigod? Why not be, rather, fully human?"

I love this. So many teachers, out of insecurity, don't admit when they're wrong, or even that they are capable. Perhaps they think if they admit mistakes, they get too chummy and too much on the level of the student, therefore losing the students respect.

So in my transition from student to teacher -

where is the balance? Where is the fine line that a teacher must stay on? I have a professor who has done it. But I can't see specifically what he does that makes him different, just that he is. different.

Later in that abovementioned preface, Schoenberg says "A teacher who does not exert himself, because he tells only 'what he knows', does not exert his pupils either. Action must start with the teacher himself; his unrest must infect the pupils. Then they will search as he does."

maybe that's the key.

youre like coming home

One more picture, a new addition to the apartment.

And unexpectedly, these two things (coffee table and mulled cider candle) really felt like the last puzzle piece to making my house a home. (and a good book doesnt hurt much either)

....wishing for christmastime, as always at this time of year.

i am weary, let me rest

when i was a little girl, it was general knowledge that my poppop was the strongest man in the world. (and daddy was the second strongest)

when the strongest man in the world cries, what else can you do but cry with him and wonder at the absolute fragility of our human life?

new, new, new

make new friends, but keep the old- one is silver, the other gold.

new dress.
new photos.
new computer.
new music.
theres a taco bell in the mall now.
new friends.
old friends.

Change, of course, is one of those inevitable things in life that people either roll with or fight against, but like a runaway train you just arent superman. Its gonna win either way.

Our culture likes new things. To distract us from the loss of old things, I guess. One of the weird things about this age is, you get to see things from your childhood slowly being chipped away from your soul. Like the wendys that is now a walgreens. I had a frosty at that wendy's right before my first kiss. Anne Arundel County doesnt care about my memories, though.

In our culture, we are toughened against feeling melancholy for the loss of old things. Whatever sentimentality we might feel is brief, and we are taught to slap a bandaid on it by replacing it with something new.

I'm copying some christmas music onto my computer. Hammered dulcimers always make me think of christmas. I really like christmas, because its one of the things right now that doesnt really change. Yeah, I mean Lizza's married now, but that wont change the fact that we'll still hide the stockings and eat coffee cake on christmas morning, and open the kentucky presents on christmas eve, and stay up way too late at the late christmas service, and always get teary eyed when we sing silent night by candlelight. its good for some things to not change.

Change is good, but tradition is good too. I've been reading Christy (i needed something for the plane trip to maryland) and the highlanders in the story didnt want change. But they had someone come in and compromise with them as far as what they needed to change for their own good, and what they could keep. They had a little more control. We, however, are slaves to the media.

sorry for the disjointedness of this post. I havent blogged in a while, and sometime soon I'll give you a tour of my "new" apartment (since i promised to months ago and didnt)

are you ready to pay years of dues before you get where you're going?

i hate that we're raised to expect instant gratification. it really, really, just comes back to kick us in the butt when real life hits.

shoulder the burden. let's go.

all the lonely people...

Boys don’t understand Twilight.

Boys don’t understand why girls will throw themselves into a poorly written set of novels and swoon over a man that doesn’t exist. We girls understand that despite the less-than-stellar literature, the books provide us with endless hours of imagining the perfect man going after us.

We understand that this is what we want and somehow, unconsciously even, we realize that it’s pretty much impossible to have the perfection of a relationship like that (on this earth at least)

In my – haste – snobbery – I have often thought, “Well if men were more romantic, we wouldn’t need to dream about Edward Cullen.”

It wasn’t until I said it to a guy friend and he called me out on it that I realized that guys do this too.

Women come up with unrealistic situations of perfectly romantic men who sweep us off our feet and sincerely want nothing more than our happiness.
Men come up with unrealistic expectations of women - perfect women who sincerely want nothing more than the men’s satisfaction.

Twilight = porn.


[disclaimer: the sweeping generalizations have been noted. take my thoughts with a grain of salt. My point is not to say that girls don't watch porn and boys don't read twilight - I'm simply comparing the two]

coming soon...

very soon there shall be a celebratory post about school ending and moving into my new apartment.

yay!

I have a favorite bathroom stall

that i always use on the 3rd floor of the library.

a while ago, someone wrote big letters in sharpie "<3 is all you need" (except with a real heart, not a sideways one)

today I went in there and some grouchy person needed a little more love, because they cleaned it off.

thoughts.

reading good literature makes me want to write more.
more reading = more writing.
more writing = awesome.

more facebook = zero productivity.


hmmm