Music is a toddler singing in the bathtub while Mommy washes his hair.
Music is a father strumming a guitar or playing a harmonica, sitting by a campfire.
Music is the college kid writing songs on his acoustic guitar for his girlfriend.
Music is a congregation of any faith, joining together in song.
Music is the heartbroken high school girl, dressed all in black, her makeup smeared, locking herself in her bedroom to write songs about how her parents don't understand her.
Music is the high school boys that start a band for no reason other than to get girls, and then write songs about how they can't get girls.
Music is the band that drives around the country in a beat-up van to play shows in front of audiences that have never heard of them, in hopes of getting a record deal or otherwise "making it".
Music is the girl who goes to college to study opera.
Music is the kid who, despite lacking anything resembling talent, gets up on stage and performs at the talent show.
Music is friends singing karaoke together at a bar.
Music is the young prodigy who picks up a violin and eventually becomes an award-winning musician.
Music is a way of identifying with others.
Music is a way of expressing yourself.
Music is art in the form of sound; it is taking your emotions, feelings, thoughts, dreams, hopes, wishes, desires, fears- and singing or playing them in front of an audience, whether it is one person or one hundred thousand.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Friday, June 11, 2010
Same vs. Different
As humans, we are all 99% similar genetically.
And if you think about it, we are pretty similar. We all (with rare exception) walk upright on two legs. We have two feet, two hands, ten toes, and ten fingers. We have two eyes, two ears, a mouth, a chin, a nose, and two lips. We have hair. We are somewhere around 5 to 6 feet tall. We can see, hear, smell, touch, and taste. We sing, laugh, speak, and cry. We think, feel, wonder, and hurt.
And yet, we're incredibly different. That 1%- or less- gives us hair that's straight, wavy, or curly, thick or thin, in shades ranging from the lightest blonde to darkest black, with some of us choosing to dye it blue, pink, or purple. We are 4'9 and 6'10; some of us shorter, some of us taller, and many of us in between. We are curvy, thin, and athletic. We have eyes that are bright blue, pale gray, dark brown, light green, and any and every shade in between. Some of us are dancers; some are singers, writers, athletes, musicians, scientists, doctors, lawyers, teachers, and nurses. Some of us excel in school- language, writing, reading, math, history, science- while others are better at sports, art, dancing, or music, and still others are good at helping people. Some of us spend hours every day watching TV and reading magazines, but others avoid "technology" like the plague. Some are messy, others are neat freaks. Some are religious, some only go to church/temple/masque on holidays, and some are loud-and-proud atheists.
We all like different things. Different things are important to different people, and everyone has their own ideas of what's right and wrong. People are interested in all sorts of things for all sorts of reasons.
We're pretty unique, but in the end, we're 99% the same.
And if you think about it, we are pretty similar. We all (with rare exception) walk upright on two legs. We have two feet, two hands, ten toes, and ten fingers. We have two eyes, two ears, a mouth, a chin, a nose, and two lips. We have hair. We are somewhere around 5 to 6 feet tall. We can see, hear, smell, touch, and taste. We sing, laugh, speak, and cry. We think, feel, wonder, and hurt.
And yet, we're incredibly different. That 1%- or less- gives us hair that's straight, wavy, or curly, thick or thin, in shades ranging from the lightest blonde to darkest black, with some of us choosing to dye it blue, pink, or purple. We are 4'9 and 6'10; some of us shorter, some of us taller, and many of us in between. We are curvy, thin, and athletic. We have eyes that are bright blue, pale gray, dark brown, light green, and any and every shade in between. Some of us are dancers; some are singers, writers, athletes, musicians, scientists, doctors, lawyers, teachers, and nurses. Some of us excel in school- language, writing, reading, math, history, science- while others are better at sports, art, dancing, or music, and still others are good at helping people. Some of us spend hours every day watching TV and reading magazines, but others avoid "technology" like the plague. Some are messy, others are neat freaks. Some are religious, some only go to church/temple/masque on holidays, and some are loud-and-proud atheists.
We all like different things. Different things are important to different people, and everyone has their own ideas of what's right and wrong. People are interested in all sorts of things for all sorts of reasons.
We're pretty unique, but in the end, we're 99% the same.
Saturday, June 05, 2010
Writing
Everyone has written a short story for class, or a poem, at least once or twice. I always liked writing, but I never started doing it outside of class until I was in eighth grade. One of my goals for this summer is to rewrite/edit an old story, design a cover, and order a hard copy from a print-on-demand bookshop (because why not?).
For a few years, I wrote mostly fan fiction. I wrote all the time, and I still do, but now, it's my own stuff, which is much more rewarding.
Sometimes I get ideas when I'm sitting at home with nothing to do, on my laptop. But I've gotten ideas at other, less opportune times, too. I've gotten ideas, either for a currently in progress or possible future story in many places and times: during school (once even during a final exam;, at "family gatherings"; in a car, plane, train, and boat; in the waiting room; at work.
I've learned that it's important to always have a way of writing things down, and so this is why I bring a notebook and pen or pencil with me just about everywhere I go. If I can't bring my notebook with me or if I forget it, then I make use of the "Notes" feature on my cellphone. I can't believe how useful it is.
Why do I write? Well, I started writing because I thought it would be fun, but I've continued to write because I enjoy it. It's a release. Sometimes I get ideas- for plots, characters, or even settings- in my head that are begging to be written. Often a song inspires me, or occasionally an album. Once, a friend said something in conversation that I thought was really interesting, and it inspired me to start writing.
I don't know if I'm any good. I mean, looking at what I wrote five years ago, I can tell that I've definitely improved since then, but I still don't know if I'd ever get published. I'm not the type that wants to write Literature, or books that will be read and analyzed in English classes; if anything, I would love to be like the Blink-182 of books- books that are enjoyable and entertaining but have something resembling substance.
I sometimes doubt my fiction writing abilities, but then I remember Twilight and my confidence comes back: if Stephenie Meyer got published, why can't I?
For a few years, I wrote mostly fan fiction. I wrote all the time, and I still do, but now, it's my own stuff, which is much more rewarding.
Sometimes I get ideas when I'm sitting at home with nothing to do, on my laptop. But I've gotten ideas at other, less opportune times, too. I've gotten ideas, either for a currently in progress or possible future story in many places and times: during school (once even during a final exam;, at "family gatherings"; in a car, plane, train, and boat; in the waiting room; at work.
I've learned that it's important to always have a way of writing things down, and so this is why I bring a notebook and pen or pencil with me just about everywhere I go. If I can't bring my notebook with me or if I forget it, then I make use of the "Notes" feature on my cellphone. I can't believe how useful it is.
Why do I write? Well, I started writing because I thought it would be fun, but I've continued to write because I enjoy it. It's a release. Sometimes I get ideas- for plots, characters, or even settings- in my head that are begging to be written. Often a song inspires me, or occasionally an album. Once, a friend said something in conversation that I thought was really interesting, and it inspired me to start writing.
I don't know if I'm any good. I mean, looking at what I wrote five years ago, I can tell that I've definitely improved since then, but I still don't know if I'd ever get published. I'm not the type that wants to write Literature, or books that will be read and analyzed in English classes; if anything, I would love to be like the Blink-182 of books- books that are enjoyable and entertaining but have something resembling substance.
I sometimes doubt my fiction writing abilities, but then I remember Twilight and my confidence comes back: if Stephenie Meyer got published, why can't I?
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Hurt
On October 1st, 2009, I went to cheerleading practice. To the squad's pleasant surprise, our brand new warm-up suits and sneakers came in that day. I took off my old shoes, and put on the brand new ones. They were Nikes, and they were so white that they made my old shoes (Kaeppas; comfortable, but several years old) look totally dull.
We had two new members that day. After we stretched, the coach talked to us as a squad. The previous day's practice hadn't gone well; a flyer had been dropped in a stunt, routines weren't clean, and we didn't listen. So on this day, everyone was assigned a "goal" for the practice. Mine was to base three clean preps; one flyer on our squad was assigned to fly three clean liberties. The coach asked me to spot the liberties. I didn't know that spotting those liberties would send me to the hospital, but, when the flyer wobbled and fell, in an attempt to keep her from hitting the floor, my right knee buckled.
I didn't realize at first that anything was wrong. It was a second or two before I realized that something bad had happened, and another second or two before I realized I was in pain, and collapsed on the ground.
Turns out I had torn my ACL and lateral meniscus. Sounds fun, right? Well, it is if your definition is surgery that leaves you with a large scar on your knee, on crutches for a week, and in a knee brace for about a month.
I had surgery in December; almost exactly six months ago. I've been going to physical therapy every week, and working out at home as well.
But I'm still not where I was, and it frustrates me. Today at PT I did some jumping, and while I knew I had improved from even the previous week, I couldn't believe that something so simple- jumping onto a box far less than a foot off the ground- had taken me so long to learn how to do again. When I jumped for the first time, I was admittedly scared. But I couldn't help think, with some aching sadness, that once upon a time, I had done back flips on a trampoline, jumped off a balance beam, and had thrown- and caught- other girls in the air, and had done those without a terrible amount of fear.
I'm not going back to cheerleading again.There's no way my body could handle another cheerleading season, and frankly, even if it could, I'd be too scared too go back. I don't want to have to go through this- a trip to the ER, orthopedist appointments, surgery, physical therapy- again.
Making the official decision not to cheer again wasn't easy. On the one hand, when I made that decision, it was a sign of me becoming an adult, that I was putting my own best interest at heart; on the other hand, I also made the decision out of fear and worry, and so maybe it was a sign of weakness.
I don't plan on getting hurt again (nobody ever does, do they?), but before I even think about, say, taking a dance class again, I have to fully recover first.
We had two new members that day. After we stretched, the coach talked to us as a squad. The previous day's practice hadn't gone well; a flyer had been dropped in a stunt, routines weren't clean, and we didn't listen. So on this day, everyone was assigned a "goal" for the practice. Mine was to base three clean preps; one flyer on our squad was assigned to fly three clean liberties. The coach asked me to spot the liberties. I didn't know that spotting those liberties would send me to the hospital, but, when the flyer wobbled and fell, in an attempt to keep her from hitting the floor, my right knee buckled.
I didn't realize at first that anything was wrong. It was a second or two before I realized that something bad had happened, and another second or two before I realized I was in pain, and collapsed on the ground.
Turns out I had torn my ACL and lateral meniscus. Sounds fun, right? Well, it is if your definition is surgery that leaves you with a large scar on your knee, on crutches for a week, and in a knee brace for about a month.
I had surgery in December; almost exactly six months ago. I've been going to physical therapy every week, and working out at home as well.
But I'm still not where I was, and it frustrates me. Today at PT I did some jumping, and while I knew I had improved from even the previous week, I couldn't believe that something so simple- jumping onto a box far less than a foot off the ground- had taken me so long to learn how to do again. When I jumped for the first time, I was admittedly scared. But I couldn't help think, with some aching sadness, that once upon a time, I had done back flips on a trampoline, jumped off a balance beam, and had thrown- and caught- other girls in the air, and had done those without a terrible amount of fear.
I'm not going back to cheerleading again.There's no way my body could handle another cheerleading season, and frankly, even if it could, I'd be too scared too go back. I don't want to have to go through this- a trip to the ER, orthopedist appointments, surgery, physical therapy- again.
Making the official decision not to cheer again wasn't easy. On the one hand, when I made that decision, it was a sign of me becoming an adult, that I was putting my own best interest at heart; on the other hand, I also made the decision out of fear and worry, and so maybe it was a sign of weakness.
I don't plan on getting hurt again (nobody ever does, do they?), but before I even think about, say, taking a dance class again, I have to fully recover first.
Camp Friends
I didn't have many friends at my high school. Actually, I didn't have any good friends at my high school. Sure, there were people that I felt comfortable sitting with at lunch, or talking to on the bus on the way to a swim meet, but the conversations never went deeper than, well, what's for lunch, or who's going to swim what event. I just never clicked with anyone that way.
But I did have camp friends that got me through high school, even if we only saw each other every few months. Even though I had never made good friends at school, something about going to camp made it so much easier.
I went to an enrichment camp (where I "studied" music) and a music camp in high school. And at both places, there were people that I met within a few days of arriving that quickly became close friends. I don't think it's just me or the camps I went to; but something about the camp setting makes people bond immediately. It was the fact that we lived together, but because it was only for a few weeks we were able to do so without driving each other totally crazy. It was because we shared the bond of music; we had different tastes in music, and played different instruments, but we still shared that common interest. It was because we had things to complain about together, like the fact that the air conditioner didn't always work, we weren't supposed to use our cell phones at all during the day, only at night (yeah, right!), and the food was horrible. It was because we could relate to each other's pain and stories. It was because we were all the same- teenage musicians wearing almost all black- and yet so different.
It was all of these things. Camp- whether it is music camp, outdoors camp, art camp, science camp, or soccer camp- brings people together. I loved going to camp, and in some ways I'd love to go back, but at the same time, I know I'm okay if I don't; while I'm considering being a counselor at a sleepaway camp some day, even if I never am a camper again myself, I still have my friends. I may be too old to be a camper, but these friends are for life.
But I did have camp friends that got me through high school, even if we only saw each other every few months. Even though I had never made good friends at school, something about going to camp made it so much easier.
I went to an enrichment camp (where I "studied" music) and a music camp in high school. And at both places, there were people that I met within a few days of arriving that quickly became close friends. I don't think it's just me or the camps I went to; but something about the camp setting makes people bond immediately. It was the fact that we lived together, but because it was only for a few weeks we were able to do so without driving each other totally crazy. It was because we shared the bond of music; we had different tastes in music, and played different instruments, but we still shared that common interest. It was because we had things to complain about together, like the fact that the air conditioner didn't always work, we weren't supposed to use our cell phones at all during the day, only at night (yeah, right!), and the food was horrible. It was because we could relate to each other's pain and stories. It was because we were all the same- teenage musicians wearing almost all black- and yet so different.
It was all of these things. Camp- whether it is music camp, outdoors camp, art camp, science camp, or soccer camp- brings people together. I loved going to camp, and in some ways I'd love to go back, but at the same time, I know I'm okay if I don't; while I'm considering being a counselor at a sleepaway camp some day, even if I never am a camper again myself, I still have my friends. I may be too old to be a camper, but these friends are for life.
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
Rain
When I was in elementary school, we had recess outdoors almost every day. I liked playing on the monkey bars or the swings, but I was never athletic enough to succeed in playing Tag (what the "cool" kids did), and though I was alright at Four Square, nobody ever stayed in the game for long. I welcomed the days when it rained; rain meant we got to stay in the classroom and have recess inside. I loved that- I could play dominoes or cards with my friends, or read a book. I loved rainy days. Rainy days also meant that I'd get picked up from school; I wouldn't have to walk home.
I went to sleep-away camp for nine (yes, nine) years (various camps), and I always loved rainy days. Sure, it meant no horseback riding, but sometimes the rain would start when I was in the swimming pool (which, despite being- without fault- freezing, was always kind of fun), and instead of having to go to activities I dreaded like kickball, volleyball, or worse- tennis, I could spend all day making clay pots in pottery, or stringing necklaces in arts and crafts.
For the first three years of high school, I rode the bus, and drove myself my senior year. I managed to avoid formal gym class by taking three years of dance and one year of "independent study". Rain didn't mean much to me in high school.
In the summers of 2008 and 2009, I worked as a counselor at a day camp, teaching arts and crafts and swimming lessons. But this was the only camp possibly in the country with an indoor pool, so still, rain didn't mean much. I didn't hate it, but it didn't really change my day at all.
But then I got to college, and suddenly I was walking to "school" (well, to class, the dining hall, the bookstore, cheerleading practice, and my sorority house) every day. And this is in Cleveland, where it rains... a lot. I learned quickly to always carry an umbrella with me, even if I was just walking to the cafeteria. I still don't like rain, but I'm used to it. Back in the very beginning of the school year, I was walking to work with an extra pair of jeans in my backpack so I could change, and it was raining so hard that when I went to change after work, I found out my jeans had been soaked (and yes, they were IN my backpack, and I had an umbrella). Towards the end of the year, though, I went and danced in the rain. It wasn't freezing out, and I had nothing to do- so I went outside (well, I didn't quite dance) in the rain for awhile. My hair, which had been straight, was ruined, my feet were dirty from not wearing shoes, and I was soaked.
It felt amazing.
I went to sleep-away camp for nine (yes, nine) years (various camps), and I always loved rainy days. Sure, it meant no horseback riding, but sometimes the rain would start when I was in the swimming pool (which, despite being- without fault- freezing, was always kind of fun), and instead of having to go to activities I dreaded like kickball, volleyball, or worse- tennis, I could spend all day making clay pots in pottery, or stringing necklaces in arts and crafts.
For the first three years of high school, I rode the bus, and drove myself my senior year. I managed to avoid formal gym class by taking three years of dance and one year of "independent study". Rain didn't mean much to me in high school.
In the summers of 2008 and 2009, I worked as a counselor at a day camp, teaching arts and crafts and swimming lessons. But this was the only camp possibly in the country with an indoor pool, so still, rain didn't mean much. I didn't hate it, but it didn't really change my day at all.
But then I got to college, and suddenly I was walking to "school" (well, to class, the dining hall, the bookstore, cheerleading practice, and my sorority house) every day. And this is in Cleveland, where it rains... a lot. I learned quickly to always carry an umbrella with me, even if I was just walking to the cafeteria. I still don't like rain, but I'm used to it. Back in the very beginning of the school year, I was walking to work with an extra pair of jeans in my backpack so I could change, and it was raining so hard that when I went to change after work, I found out my jeans had been soaked (and yes, they were IN my backpack, and I had an umbrella). Towards the end of the year, though, I went and danced in the rain. It wasn't freezing out, and I had nothing to do- so I went outside (well, I didn't quite dance) in the rain for awhile. My hair, which had been straight, was ruined, my feet were dirty from not wearing shoes, and I was soaked.
It felt amazing.
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