Stayin' Alive

Humans versus Zombies (HvZ) has begun again. For those of you unfamiliar with the game, allow me to shed some light on the subject. For those of you who know what I'm talking about, you can skip this part.

HvZ is a college game of tag. The teams are identified by orange bandannas (worn on the arm or leg for Humans, worn on the head for Zombies). One person is the Original Zombie, the OZ. The humans do not know who the OZ is until at least 5 kills have been made. When humans are tagged, they join the zombie team. The only way to temporarily stun a zombie is to shoot them with Nerf guns or hit them with socks. Periodically, the moderators will organize missions for the teams. The Humans have a task to accomplish, and the zombies' job is to turn as many humans as possible.

This game is played on college campuses nationwide, but is it really a good idea?

As a "veteran" of the game, I have a different point of view than a spectator which I have now chosen to be for the remainder of this game. the game very quickly goes from being tag to being war. Humans suit up, armed with socks and Nerf guns before leaving the dorms or classes. They are advised not to travel alone as there is safety from the "horde" in numbers. After a very short while, sometimes only hours, walking on campus feels completely unsafe. The head snaps around at the sound of a blowing leaf or snapping twig. Humans are constantly checking behind them or to the side, looking for assailants with bright orange bandannas on their heads. And at night, at night during the missions, when the fighting gets intense, it sounds like something from a war film, especially with the impressive TKE weaponry.

After a few days, adrenaline and being on guard all the time become part of the norm. It becomes impossible to relax, and the humans watch helplessly as one by one, their friends fall to the horde. Last semester, I was the last one of my friends to be turned. I made the Zombie hit list after my epic sock battle with one of my suitemates. The next day, after my rehearsal ended around 9:30, three of them were waiting at my car, I stunned them, tore back to the Park Ave lot, bolted to my dorm, nearly made it up the stairs, and got ambushed. There were at least 10 of them waiting in the door to my suite.

It quickly comes to feel as though the bandanna is a brand, as good as having a bright red target in the center of your chest. You feel as though everyone is watching you. for me, it is a close to actual war as I ever want to get. I only ever used socks for my ammunition; I carried a bag of at least 2 dozen and kept another 7 or 8 in my pocket of my hoodie. Even though my brother gave me a Maverick for Christmas, I could not bring myself to use it. Even though it looks ridiculous (glow-in-the-dark green), it feels too much like a real gun in my hand and that somehow by using it against my friends, I will lose some integral part of me, the part of me that I keep protected at all costs. I feel that by even pretending to kill, I sink to the lowest level of humanity.

I'm against war, I'm against shooting, and I am against bloodshed, and while this game had no blood (as long as you don't fall and hurt yourself), it has elements of the other two. It is too close to war for my taste. Should we be teaching college students these element with their friends? Yes, we are not truly killing our friends, but what if they go off to war for real and after three or four rounds in the chest, their comrades do not wake with a smile?

I chose Tuesday night to "hang up my bandanna," so to speak. Too many memories of sleepless nights, skipped meals, and distrust had flooded me in the few hours I played that day. I now sit on the sidelines, cheering for my friends as they battle against the horde. At present, there are 74 humans and 38 Zombies, and the numbers will change drastically just today, especially with a mission tonight.

So, I wish my friends the best of luck in their fight. I leave today to present a paper at a conference.

Stay human!

So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, adieu!

Lollipop

I haven't stopped singing this song since yesterday. It was actually kind of fun to sing it in the echoing stairwell of my dorm while doing laundry. It's got such a great beat and smooth harmonies, and the Daughters of Zion sing it so well. They are the High School girls of my church (+ me), and we have so much fun performing it. We sang it twice today for the Doll 2 performances at the Madison Community House, and I noticed something the second time. Well, several somethings. The first was I felt better than I have in a whole week; I wasn't thinking about my cat, and I felt ok about her. The second was that I was enjoying myself. I was having fun, snapping and moving to the beat. The third was the smile I was beaming at the audience. Singing lights me up and makes me feel whole. It's better than any medicine I could ever take.

I enjoy singing songs and thinking about people who match them. Certain details stand out more than others. When thinking about a friend in trouble, I listen to songs about helping each other and pulling them up. When I've lost someone or someone is hurt, I listen to sad songs or songs about healing. When I like someone or a friend of mine is going out on a date, I listen to happy, upbeat songs or songs about smiling and sunlight and love. I love discovering songs that fit the situation perfectly or ironically ("Here Comes the Sun" on the first snowy day of spring, or the "Rutter requiem" for the passing of a pet, or "Whistle while you Work" when you have a stack of homework as tall as you are).

So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, adieu!

So They Say

So, this has been on my mind since before Spring Break. Our assignment for Scholars was to write a short story about love/beauty. I wanted mine to tie together with music, so I picked one of my favorite songs from Annie Get your Gun: So they Say. The resulting short story was 7 and a half pages!!!!! I'd attach the document, but I can't, so here is my masterpiece. Happy reading.

So They Say

Clinking glasses, raucous laughter, and smacking pool balls are all covered by a thin haze of smoke. The barista and waitresses are dressed in translucent tops and six inch skirts, flaunting what they have with every step of their three-inch stilettos. A lone, nearly melted candle rests at the center of each table.

“Five minutes, Ms. Milani.”

“Thank you, five.”

My voice feels raspy, so I sip my lemon water. Staring at my image in the mirror, I see my eyes staring back at me from the face of a woman who could be a senior citizen. We wear the same forlorn expression, but she cannot possibly be me. Wrinkles crease her forehead and the corners of her eyes as if she has thought too hard about something for too long. The skin around her cheeks sags slightly as if it is too heavy for her slender frame, but the laugh lines suggest a better place, a happier time-

The compact in my hand slips and clatters to the floor, cracking the powder inside. Wearily, I retrieve it and finish the hasty application of my makeup. As I complete my lips, my eyes involuntarily close as a memory envelops me-

-His eyes on mine, the feeling of being the only two people in the world, his scent: subtle and inviting but not overwhelming, his hand on my chin as he lifts my lips to his-

“Thirty seconds, Ms. Milani.”

The memory vanishes like a puff of smoke. Another sip of water and I’m in the wings of the rundown stage. The seedy manager introduces me, and I’m on.

Usually, they don’t listen; I’m just another voice in the room, but tonight, tonight something is different. Their eyes are on me in a way I have not felt in years, as if I am something to be desired. The piano ambles through the intro, and I begin to sing.

“They say that falling in love is wonderful

It’s wonderful, so they say.”

Conversations grind to a halt, pool sticks are held still, drinks are placed on the tables, every face gazes my way with rapt attention.

“And with the moon up above it’s wonderful

It’s wonderful, so they tell me.”

And suddenly, I’m not breathing in the secondhand smoke or squinting in the dim light of the hole-in-the-wall joint. My dress no longer scratches my skin, and my ears can’t hear the slightly flat piano.

I’m a sapphire gem in the spotlight.

The deep blue fabric feels like cool silk on my skin, and the blinding light that bathes the spot where I stand gives it an otherworldly glow. The heels give me two fairly unsteady inches, and my jewelry glistens and refracts a thousand colors, looking like so many stars resting on my collarbone.

The auditorium is full to bursting, and yet there is not a sound from the people in attendance: not a rustle, cough, or sneeze to break the music’s spell; all are enthralled, hanging onto my every note.

My voice feels like liquid silver, smooth and perfect, gliding through the song with ease. A slight smile tugs the corners of my lips as I finish:

“In every way, so they say.”

The applause is thunderous; two curtain calls and one standing ovation later, I’m backstage in a crowd of admirers.

“You were WONDERFUL!”

“That was fantastic!”

“I’ve never heard anything like it.”

“Do you ever sing for an audience of one?”

My eyebrows betray my utter delight, and I struggle to compose my face as I turn.

His smile could power the spotlight. He wraps me in a warm, tight hug that I gladly return. I ask him to wait while I finish greeting everyone, and half-an-hour later, we are alone.

“You really were amazing,” he says as we walk to my car. Blushing, I reply, “Thanks,” glad that the darkness is hiding my face. I’m very aware of where he is, how our fingers almost meet with every step, how he shortens his stride to match my own.

“I wasn’t kidding before when I asked if you ever sing for a solo audience,” he remarks. “I could listen to you sing forever.”

Flattered, I nearly lose my nerve, but I manage to reply, “You’re sweet, and I can sing for a single person. I’m told it’s the same as singing for a host of thousands, except you don’t need an auditorium.”

“So they say,” he grins.

I stop at my car, desperate for more time with him, but knowing I have to go.

“Well, so long,” I begin, but before I can finish, I’m in his arms again, the hug even tighter than before. I relax into him, basking in his warmth and strength. I don’t miss the kiss he places on the crown of my head.

“I’ll see you in rehearsal tomorrow,” he says. Softer, almost in a whisper, he adds, “Goodnight, Nathalie.”

“Goodnight, Aaron.”

*          *          *

            I feel like a crazed fan girl. Still in school and without a moment to myself, I manage to make time to watch him out of the corner of my eye in rehearsals. Every word he says makes my heart pound and my palms sweat; it is a wonder that I can even speak around him.

            Two weeks after my recital, our choir performs. The intricate melodies mingle and twist together, forming a cocoon of music that settles over the room. In the middle of the piece, I feel my soul rise in my body; the piece crescendos to a climax, and tears prick my eyes. Safe in the music, I allow a single tear of pure joy to fall. I am never happier than when I am singing, a passion we both share.

            We hug after the concert, both smiling and happy. I allow myself a few seconds to memorize his face and the smile meant for only me.

*          *          *

Bonded by a love of music and a love of each other’s voices, we continue singing together. I always wonder how he feels but never ask; I’ve been hurt too many times to want to let someone else in, but he finds a way in anyway. He slips in, stealthily weaving his way through all of my defenses and precautions, but I do not realize it until we get talking on our way to a rehearsal.

“How’s school?”

“Busy, insane, great. The usual. How’s work?”

“About the same.” Silence, then, “You know, I never did have you sing after that recital, did I?”

“Wha-oh! Right. I’d forgotten about that,” I lie as we drive into the parking lot. “Do you want me to sing now?”

“Well, we are early.” He pulls into the closest space to the building and parks the car. Turning to look at me, he adds, “Besides, it will be a good warm up for you.” His look is teasing and playful, but his eyes say something else, something deeper.

I can feel my cheeks flushing as I remove my seatbelt and turn to him. Thinking my first note I clear my throat, look into his eyes, and begin to sing:

“They say that falling in love is wonderful

It’s wonderful, so they say.

And with the moon up above it’s wonderful

It’s wonderful, so they tell me.

I can’t recall who said it

I know I never read it

I only know that falling in love is grand

And the thing that’s known as romance

Is wonderful, wonderful

In every way

So they say.”

And as I take a breath to go on, he begins to sing. Struck dumb, I listen, basking in his voice but never breaking eye contact. His voice is deep and rich, filling the car like a warm bubble bath:

“Rumors fly and they often leave without

But you’ve come to the right place to find out

Ev’rything that you’ve heard is really so

I’ve been there once or twice and I should know

You’ll find that falling in love is wonderful

It’s wonderful, so they say.”

He pauses; our faces are mere centimeters apart now. I can hear our breathing in the silent car. Staring into his eyes, emotions flood my body, stunning me. Joy, excitement, and passion that I never knew existed burst through all of my protective walls. I feel the urge to kiss him, to tell him how I truly feel, but at the last second, he breaks the spell.

“We should go inside.”

My face is completely blank as I gather my things and exit the car. I feel my mind reeling with the new discovery of my feelings for him. I spend all of rehearsal watching him, sneaking looks across the room, and trying to figure out how he feels about me. After rehearsal, he offers to drive me home again, and I accept. We sing to the radio and talk some more until we get back to my school.

“Thanks again for the ride. See you in a few days?” I turn to open the door when-

“Nathalie?” His voice stops me.

“Mhmm?”

“I’m sorry if things felt…awkward before.”

“It’s alright. I mean, I hadn’t expected you to sing and then I got caught up in your voice and then everything went quiet and I couldn’t breathe and-“

“Shhh.” He puts his finger to my lips, locking eye contact. “You chatter when you are nervous.”

Now I can’t speak. My whole body tingles as he leans in, and my eyes close as our lips meet. He is gentle and cautious, almost hesitant, and it doesn’t last long. When we part, he watches me carefully as if unsure how I will react. I feel my lips smile as I meet his gaze.

“You know,” I slowly begin, “Four days is an awfully long time before I see you again. I might meet someone else. I think I may need a stronger incentive to come to rehearsal.” I give him a sly grin as I say this.

His face lights up the way it did at my recital. Grinning, he kisses me again, this time wrapping his arms around me to pull me close in the small space. We stay there for a long time.

*          *          *

Each day I wake and sleep with a smile on my face, each day we talk and laugh, and each time we see each other, the kiss is like that first one: careful and hesitant but with something else underneath. His hugs are warmer, his smiles brighter, and his lips softer. We sing along to everything, inventing harmonies to familiar tunes or just letting our voices blend in a beautiful unison.

Our first fight is over something stupid, a simple misunderstanding. He calls to wish me luck on my exams, but I don’t answer; I am hanging out with my friends instead of studying. He scolds me for not “taking school seriously,” but I shoot back that I aced the exam anyway. I yell that he is trying to be my parent and that I have people to do that job already. We do not speak for two days, but we make up before graduation. I want him there to see me graduate top of my class. He promises me a graduation present and says it isn’t ready yet but that I’ll know when it is.

He gives me my present in July on our seven month anniversary. I spend the day with him. We walk in the park together, eat together, watch movies together, and we spend the night together. It is my first time; he knows this. He is the perfect gentleman, slowly guiding me and teaching me. Afterwards, he holds me in his arms until I fall asleep.

We spend the summer together, taking walks, seeing films, eating out. My parents approve, his have no qualms. Everything is beautiful.

*          *          *

My music is so much stronger now. I sing all the time, inspired by every little thing. Work conspires to keep us apart, but we find ways to stay close: phone calls on breaks, texts, notes left on each other’s respective Facebook pages. We greet each other with song every chance we get, especially with our song.

But there is one smudge on our perfect relationship, one constant fight that we cannot seem to resolve: my walking to work. Many times I leave for work and he is there in his car, waiting for me. I insist on walking for the fresh air and good exercise, but he insists it is dangerous and that I will get hurt.

I leave early for work today. There is not a cloud in the sky, and a gentle breeze brushes my cheek the same way his fingertips do. I hum while walking, soaking up every ray of sunlight, every ounce of beauty from the trees and flowers. As I draw near to my workplace, I see him on the other side of the road, waiting for me. I send a smile his way and begin to cross the street.

His expression changes to a look of horror. Screams, screeching tires, and honking horns assault my ears as I fly through the air and land back on the sidewalk. Ears ringing and palms stinging, it takes me a full minute to realize what has happened. An inhuman cry escapes my lips as I rush to his side.

“Aaron? Aaron!”

His head is in a small pool of blood. There are various scrapes and cuts on his arms. His right leg is bent at an odd angle. One eye is beginning to bruise, but his gaze is not glassy and unfocused yet. He turns toward my voice and smiles slightly.

“I-did-warn-you.”

Each word takes so much effort for him to say; he probably has some broken ribs. The tears start to flow, and I don’t even realize it.

“Please don’t! You can’t! The ambulance will be here soon. You’ll be fine. I can’t lose you!”

He reaches up and strokes my cheek with his fingertips.

“I love you.”

I sob and lean down, kissing him; he kisses me back.

*          *          *

“Is wonderful, wonderful

In every way

So they say.”

A single tear trickles down my face, leaving a track through my foundation and powder. I’m met with raucous, drunken applause and wolf-whistles. I manage a small smile and a curtsy before I leave the stage.

Back in my dressing room, I give myself over to the memories. Tears flow more freely as I slip off the heels that threaten to break my ankles. Slumping into the chair before my mirror, I feel the deadweight of his lifeless body in my arms after kissing me with his dying breath. I remember refusing to leave his side when the paramedics arrive. They say the cause of death is massive internal injuries compounded with a severe concussion. I’m in shock; I do not eat or sleep for a week, and every time I close my eyes, the scenario plays out again and again.

At the funeral, they ask me to sing; I barely make it through the piece. I have to leave and compose myself before the burial. Afterwards, I don’t sing again for twenty years. I close myself off from affection and human ties for fear of what awaits those who love me. Worry lines etch themselves into my forehead, and I am gray by forty-five.

One night the pain gets to be too much, and I end up in the ER in a coma. The doctors think I am gone.

It is bliss to no longer exist, but as the light appears for me, someone stands in the way.

His scent hits me first, and I am convinced that I am dead. I reach out for him, and he takes my hand in his; it is solid. We might as well be the only two people in the whole world. His hand gently strokes my jaw before tilting my chin up. When our lips meet, it is as if no time has passed. Five minutes or five years later, he breaks the kiss but continues to hold me close, whispering in my ear:

“I love you. I always have and always will, but you must stop dwelling on the past; it is not your time to go yet. I miss you terribly, but I would not have been able to bear you dying that day. I acted on impulse to save the woman I love, a woman who is worth dying for. You are not to blame. I knew what I was doing. And please go back to your music; the world is a much sadder place without it. I will see you again, but please, if not for you then for me, live your life.”

He kisses me once more and I’m falling back into my body. My eyes burn from the bright hospital lights overhead. The doctors say it is a miracle; the number of sleeping pills I took should have killed me. They keep me under observation for two weeks.

Two days before I’m due to be released, I find myself humming softly. It’s a simple tune, “Simple Gifts” in fact, but I can feel my strength and sanity slowly seep back into my body. My guilt over his death begins to lessen, and I feel more alive than I have the past twenty years.

After my discharge, I do not know where to go; my twenty years of isolation severed all the human ties I had before. I decide to return home, to see my parents again. They are so much older than I remember, but so am I. They fill me in on some of what has happened since I left home. As it happens, one of my old school friends manages a chain of nightclubs. He is more than happy to offer me a job.

I know Aaron is watching over me so that someday we can fall in love again. Because falling in love is wonderful.

So they say.

Here Comes the Sun

So, today is the Spring Equinox, the first day of Spring, the end of winter...right? Well, the weather could say otherwise. I woke up this morning to a winter wonderland campus and snowflakes as big as the nail on my pinkie finger. My roommate will testify that I woke her up this morning saying, "You are not going to believe this." Our first full day back after Spring Break (during which the weather was GORGEOUS) to snow and rain.

I'm improving, I suppose; my cat featured very prominently in my dreams last night, an assignment I thought would be due Thursday is now due Monday, and HVZ (Humans vs. Zombies) returns on Monday. I think I just agreed to play again. Wonder what was going through my mind.

They say there are 5 stages of grief: anger, denial, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Based on the number of arguments I've had with myself today, I think I am in the anger stage. I keep reminding myself that Patty is safe and happy and no longer in pain, but I'm just having difficulty remembering that when I miss her so much. It's quite a quandary.

So long, farewell, auf weidersehen, adieu!

Soft Kitty

My cat died today. Well, by the time this posts, it will be yesterday, but anyway.

I got Peppermint Patty in the Fall of 1999. I had been 8 years old for a month, and my gift that year was a cat; she would be my first since Belle, the cat I had in NC before we moved here who gave me ringworm (not fun). Mom took me to St. Hubert's Animal shelter to get a rescue cat and give him/her a good home. I looked at the cats for a long time, trying to decide. They people who worked there said they weren't sure how old she was but that she could be anywhere from 3-7 years old. Her name was Patty, and I added Peppermint to the beginning so she could keep her name. She was white with black "accents": her face was a mix of the two, her belly and paws were white, and her back and tail were black, but her tail had a white tip like it had been dipped in paint. Her green eyes were alert.

It took her 2 or 3 days before she learned how to jump the gate to my room and explore the house. She was very shy at first and a bit skittish, but I remember her taking a swipe at our smelly, slobbery Golden Retriever at the time, showing him who ran the house. He did not last long and soon moved on from our place of residence.

One of Peppermint Patty's most identifying characteristics was her weight; she was a FAT cat. My family nicknamed her "Patty the Fatty Catty." It pissed me off. She had very strong paws that could wind you if you were lying down, and her purr was like a motorboat. Sometimes she would use my head as pillow so that when I rolled over, I woke from a dead sleep because my hair was stuck under her tummy.

She had several companions in our house, aside from the humans. My sister's cat Thomas, who passed recently, was the resident Tom Cat. Tiger, who passed in January 2006 and was the resident nurse cat, was kind to her. Zazu, our Siamese who is alive and meowing, would crowd the food bowl. Jasmine, our resident scaredy cat, could be counted on when she wanted to hid away from company.

I can remember getting a 3-D puzzle of Edoras (The Golden Hall and court of King Theoden from Lord of the Rings) and having my family joke that Patty could be a troll that comes and knows it down. I remember defending her vehemently to my family.

She started losing weight in January 2009; I remember because is was very soon after I watched the film Jaws for the first time. She's been getting thinner ever since.. I've wondered if her body was not actually absorbing the food she ate. this past week, she was barely more than a bag of bones and fur. Her eyes were beginning to drain, she could only take a few steps before having to rest, and the only way I could tell she was alive was because she was breathing.

Today/Yesterday I to;d her that she shouldn't have to hang on just for me, that I didn't want to see her suffer like this anymore, that she should be happy I wasn't sure if she heard me or not. I guess she did. Dad found her around 11:20 under a table in the Stamp room, the room right next to mine in the basement of our house. I have no idea how old she was, only that she had been my companion for almost 11 1/2 years.

I thank the universe for our time together. I thank our pets for keeping her company, I thank my parents for my eight birthday present, and I thank my wonderful Pretty Kitty who kept a lonely child company and became her wonderful companion for so many years.

Lux aerterna, luceat eiis. Requiem aeternam in pacem, mea cara. Amo te.
Light eternal, shine over us. rest in pece eternal, my dear. Amo te.

Danny Boy

Well, it's St. Patrick's Day, a day to eat corned beef and cabbage, a day to wear green or get pinched by friends/siblings, and a day for...the Muppets? Yes, indeed. The Muppets, some of my favorite childhood characters, have a beautiful rendition of Danny Boy as performed by the Swedish Chef, Animal, and Beaker. Since the only distinguishable words are "Oh, Danny Boy," the video is very amusing and is sure to lift and spirits that aren't high on this very green day.

Now, Danny Boy is not the only Muppet hit that is Sweeping YouTube. In keeping with lifting spirits today, here is one of Beaker's best numbers, Ode to Joy. You have to see it to believe it, but you know him, he is accident prone.

The most epic BY FAR has to be the Muppet Bohemian Rhapsody. Done as a true parody of the hit song by Queen, be sure to keep an ear out for all of the twisted lyrics, especially Animal's "lovely" rendition of the depressing verses at the beginning of the piece.

Who could ever forget Gonzo's PPP (Pitch Perfect Poultry) in their version of The Blue Danube Waltz? For Statler and Waldorf, not enough people apparently.

In case you still have Danny Boy stuck in your head, here is one to dislodge it: The Habanera. If you are anything like me, the title begins the piece in your head and then refuses to leave forever.

Feel bad for Beaker. The poor guy never gets a break. I personally would love to hear a full version of his Dust in the Wind. But I will admit, I have to agree that fail + fire = win.


For one last clip today, here is Rita Moreno vs. Animal in Fever. In the battle of Drummer vs. Singer, who do you think wins?


So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen adieu!

Can't Smile Without You

Some days might be lyrics days, and on a rainy day like today, an uplifting song seems necessary.

You know I can't smile without you
I can't smile without you
I can't laugh, and I can't sing
I'm finding it hard to do anything

You see I feel sad when you're sad
I feel glad when you're glad
If you only knew what I'm going through
I just can't smile without you

You came along just like a song
And brightened my day
Who'd have believed that you were part of a dream
Now it all seems light years away

You know I can't smile without you

I can't smile without you

I can't laugh, and I can't sing

I'm finding it hard to do anything

You see I feel sad when you're sad

I feel glad when you're glad

If you only knew what I'm going through

I just can't smile without you

I learned this song from one of my favorite films, Unconditional Love (2002, PG-13): Kathy Bates, Dan Aykroyd, Rupert Everett, and Jonathan Price in a clever comedy about a mid-life crisis, coming out of the closet, and a cross-bow killer.

Happiness is...

So, I can't resist. Never has the blank screen possessed such an attraction for me. I've hated writing since I was eight, but I seem to be rediscovering it 11 years later.


So, music. Why do I like it so much? I think it is the purest expression of feelings and emotions that exists. Music can shape a person's reactions to things, like the score of a film. Let's face it, horror and suspense thrillers like Jaws or Psycho would not be nearly as terrifying without their very distinctive scores. In choral music, if the thrill of singing with a group is not enough and the choir director is smart, the piece will come to life in the room. the notes will swirl around you, lifting your soul out of your body to hear it better. It is the best feeling in the world, crying for joy while standing in the middle of 100 people all singing the same piece of music.


For songs by one's favorite artist, one appreciates the tune, the lyrics, the story behind the song, even the music video. I love Lady Gaga because her songs are catchy and because she doesn't care what people think. i hope to get to a point where I can emulate some of her daring and self-confidence. I love Enya because her music is calming like listening to the ocean waves at night. I love Katy Perry because I can totally rock out to her music when I'm alone in my room (and Gaga too for that matter).


I search for the beauty in music, either in consonance (sounding nice and harmonious) or dissonance (strikes the ear in an unexpected way, two or more notes that are very close together and seem to fight with each other). I always try to explain how music makes me feel, but it is not really possible to put into words.


I leave you with an unusual piece, also from a recent concert. To the Mothers in Brazil: Salve Regina. It is more complicated than it initially sounds. See what you can hear.


So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen adieu!

An English Teacher

For the past four days, I've woken up with the song "An English Teacher" from Bye, Bye Birdie stuck in my head.
Which is funny, considering I wasn't even in the show, my brother was.
And considering that I have never heard the song before
BUT, what can I say? I have a head for music.

I'm always humming some tune or other, and since there is a song for every occasion, each entry in this online diary-of-sorts will be the title of a song. Hey, I'm new at this. I need some kind of gimmick.

The title is also perfect for this first stab at writing down what I'm thinking as I'd love to be an English teacher at some point, along with being an actress and a singer. I already sing in multiple choirs and I'm in acting classes at school, but my most inspiring teacher in high school was my English Teacher. I decided that "When I grow up, I want to be like her." My siblings call me the "Grammar Police." Seeing as I correct most of what they say, it's probably an accurate nickname.

But, back to music. I sing in two choirs right now which is the smallest number of groups that I've been in since I was 5 or 6. Somehow, I got it down to Church choir and Harmonium Choral Society, and it's not a bad gig. Harmonium just finished a concert that was absolutely GLORIOUS. Harmonium sings "Into the Blue"
The text for the piece is spoken beforehand by the poet who came out from PA just for the concert. The choir here is 100 voices strong.

I'm sure there's more to say, but my brain needs a jump start. So, I will leave you with an "inspirational" photo which pretty much means it was the first to catch my eye this morning.

So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen adieu!