There are some in this world I know who don't appreciate music. They feel it their duty to let musicians know they "are wasting their time" or not "producing anything worthwhile to society" It's very upsetting to meet these people. I read an article on Yahoo! about the best majors to pick in college for the best job market and lucrative income. Music related careers were listed as the ones where they made the least amount of money and also the most cut back as teachers in public funding.
Both statements are true, but only to a point. Yes, unfortunately, a performing musician usually doesn't make much money. But a very talented musician makes more. It takes practically a lifetime to get there for the normally talented musician, but eventually, you can make a comfortable income. The best way to guarantee a livable income is to be a music teacher. And yes, even more sad is this ridiculous notion that music is not an essential subject to be studied. Because of this, music jobs are cut, choir and orchestra programs are non-existent, or get the boot. (It's this way with all arts). Because of this there is a lack of needed positions. But does Yahoo! Have to come out and bash all hope out? They could have used a little more tact. But, Yahoo! is pretty tacky...
I do not plan on making bank with my education choice. I really don't care, or even want to make bank. What matters is I am doing something I love and I'm good at. Being a music education major doesn't make me stupid, either. I have a wonderful father who told me before I left for college, that I had the capacity to be anything I wanted. I believe him. I know how to study, I learn well, and I work hard. That's all it takes to make it in any career. I just happened to choose music.
Now. To those music naysayers. Without music teachers, and performers, who would write the music for the American Idol singers you blast on your iPod? What about all those commercial jingles that persuade you to go buy, buy, buy all your gadgets and doo-dads to play music on? And when you get super rich from your "useful" "productive" and "beneficial to society" job, who's going to provide background music for your lavish cocktail parties, or wedding? A string quartet? Hmm...
I can't imagine a world without music. It's all around us. No matter how hard we try, it's inescapable. Music is in the wind, traffic, wind chimes, and in people talking. It's just unorganized. Music as we think of is simply organized pitches, timbres and rhythm. All blended together in a dizzying array of sequences, forms, patterns, chords, modes, scales, arpeggios, in a million different, complex, ways.Not to mention how music has been in society since the beginning of time. And since then songs have flowed through humanity, defining us, changing us-for good or evil, even. Music contributes to society just as much as a lawyer condemning a criminal of his crime.
So, don't dis us music people. If you hate music you might as well volunteer to lose your hearing to avoid it. Music is a mind boggling beauty God gave us to enjoy. So always sing your hymns in Thanksgiving to music and your ability to hear it!
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Beauty
I truly believe every individual is beautiful in their own way.
Some just have to learn better ways of flattering their unique looks.
I've worked as a lifeguard for the past 4 summers. Sadly, I've become highly critical of what kinds of people should wear certain kinds of swimsuits. And unfortunately, I've come to the conclusion that 90% of the Americans should just not wear the swimsuits they wear. Not just because of the obesity issue that regulary swamps our media, but because a lot of the swim suits are flat out tacky and unflattering. They also reveal everything tacky and unflattering about a person. Yes, I think very heavy people should not wear a thong bikinis. Doesn't everyone? But if you have marijuana tattoed on your arm... maybe you should cover that up while at a public pool. Having your name tattooed across your stomach also seems a little strange.
Maybe I'm the swimsuit nazi, but when one gets bored watching people not drown... well you think of these things. And all I want is for people to be aware of their tackiness, and then be aware of how to show off their true beauty, realistically. To the fat thong lady... Maybe just hang it up in your room as motivation, Buy a suit to hug and caress your curves, not expose them. To the marijuana armed man: consider expressing your love for drugs in a more politically correct manner. To the tatted tummy: show off your waist with objects that won't stretch out and be ruined when you potentially get pregnant with triplets.
But really, everyone IS beautiful in their own unique way. But everyone CANNOT look like the fake people we see in the media. If we all learned to accept and appreciate our own bodies, then we wouldn't have to try and appear like their bodies. If it is individuality and personalization you seek in your style, consider embracing the mind, and make that the highlight of your wardrobe by going against the grain. Embellish that which gets undermined by the ubsurdity of sexual promiscuity being the epitomy of beauty. Reveal the beauty of your mind.
Some just have to learn better ways of flattering their unique looks.
I've worked as a lifeguard for the past 4 summers. Sadly, I've become highly critical of what kinds of people should wear certain kinds of swimsuits. And unfortunately, I've come to the conclusion that 90% of the Americans should just not wear the swimsuits they wear. Not just because of the obesity issue that regulary swamps our media, but because a lot of the swim suits are flat out tacky and unflattering. They also reveal everything tacky and unflattering about a person. Yes, I think very heavy people should not wear a thong bikinis. Doesn't everyone? But if you have marijuana tattoed on your arm... maybe you should cover that up while at a public pool. Having your name tattooed across your stomach also seems a little strange.
Maybe I'm the swimsuit nazi, but when one gets bored watching people not drown... well you think of these things. And all I want is for people to be aware of their tackiness, and then be aware of how to show off their true beauty, realistically. To the fat thong lady... Maybe just hang it up in your room as motivation, Buy a suit to hug and caress your curves, not expose them. To the marijuana armed man: consider expressing your love for drugs in a more politically correct manner. To the tatted tummy: show off your waist with objects that won't stretch out and be ruined when you potentially get pregnant with triplets.
But really, everyone IS beautiful in their own unique way. But everyone CANNOT look like the fake people we see in the media. If we all learned to accept and appreciate our own bodies, then we wouldn't have to try and appear like their bodies. If it is individuality and personalization you seek in your style, consider embracing the mind, and make that the highlight of your wardrobe by going against the grain. Embellish that which gets undermined by the ubsurdity of sexual promiscuity being the epitomy of beauty. Reveal the beauty of your mind.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Why football?!
I just don't get it.
WHY?!?
Why do people like football? As I write this post, I'm sure all football players/fans will be thinking of ways to pommel me into the ground, but really? Why on earth does anybody like this sport?
Reasons it makes no sense:
1. All the pauses. The clock will run for a minute straight. Tops. Then we need to stop it so everyone can get situated to run at each other again and try to get to the other end of the field. Sure it sounds fun, but it's unbelievably boring to watch. You get your hopes up and then boom. Wait around for 3 minutes for a whopping 30 second of play. Then by the time "15 minutes" of the first quarter have gone by it's really been an hour. So, you end up wasting 4ish hours, in freezing cold, behind the fat, smelly beer-burp man, who is yelling for the opposite team.
2. It's football... and yet they mainly toss, throw, and catch... with hands...
3. Weather. Sometimes it's favorable... it you live in Texas, or the south. Anywhere else it's freaking cold, and the metal benches do not help.
4. Other people. You're around all these people who momentarily lose any sense of humanity. Ever seen the mess left behind after a game? It atrocious! Not to include the leaky, smelly bathrooms. Plus, there are so many people, you inevitably have to sit next to one of the following: Drunk, fat, hot-dog fart man(essentially the same as aforementioned beer-burp man). Slutty, middle-aged, fake boob mom. Her son is some lunk of a guy on the team. Frat boys, drunk, naked and profane. Family-with-whiny-children-that-parents-ignore.(The kids have it figured out. It's cold, loud and boooring!) Female students wearing inane amounts of perfume, heels of death, and too-little clothing. They scream at the wrong times, or gossip the whole time. Or the band. Collection of louder than loud, nerdy students.(I can say that. I am one).
5. On a more pronounced tone, the football team is notoriously the money sucking vacuum in any scholastic organization. Some schools are worse than others, and the football team avoids program cuttage before art, music, Science, English, Math, and all other sports teams. (usually in that order, too). More people make it into professions completely unrelated to anything football related, and even fewer make it to a professional football playing career.
6. All the advertising. My stance on how evil advertising is remains steadfast and unshakeable. So, in combination with all the breaks and pauses in football comes a flurry of advertisements. Even stadiums are filled with a mishmash of "supporting" companies. And super bowl commercials are famous. I know people who watch the super bowl for the commercials alone. Tell me, America, how is that NOT brainwashing?
So again, to the 90-something percent of Americans who adore football for some strange, baffling reason; could ya calm down? It's really not that great.
Also, please do not even attempt to change my opinion. I've felt this way since I was five years old and couldn't figure out why my daddy was glued to the screen during the autumn. Once I'm done with marching band, I will probably never even go to a football game ever again.
WHY?!?
Why do people like football? As I write this post, I'm sure all football players/fans will be thinking of ways to pommel me into the ground, but really? Why on earth does anybody like this sport?
Reasons it makes no sense:
1. All the pauses. The clock will run for a minute straight. Tops. Then we need to stop it so everyone can get situated to run at each other again and try to get to the other end of the field. Sure it sounds fun, but it's unbelievably boring to watch. You get your hopes up and then boom. Wait around for 3 minutes for a whopping 30 second of play. Then by the time "15 minutes" of the first quarter have gone by it's really been an hour. So, you end up wasting 4ish hours, in freezing cold, behind the fat, smelly beer-burp man, who is yelling for the opposite team.
2. It's football... and yet they mainly toss, throw, and catch... with hands...
3. Weather. Sometimes it's favorable... it you live in Texas, or the south. Anywhere else it's freaking cold, and the metal benches do not help.
4. Other people. You're around all these people who momentarily lose any sense of humanity. Ever seen the mess left behind after a game? It atrocious! Not to include the leaky, smelly bathrooms. Plus, there are so many people, you inevitably have to sit next to one of the following: Drunk, fat, hot-dog fart man(essentially the same as aforementioned beer-burp man). Slutty, middle-aged, fake boob mom. Her son is some lunk of a guy on the team. Frat boys, drunk, naked and profane. Family-with-whiny-children-that-parents-ignore.(The kids have it figured out. It's cold, loud and boooring!) Female students wearing inane amounts of perfume, heels of death, and too-little clothing. They scream at the wrong times, or gossip the whole time. Or the band. Collection of louder than loud, nerdy students.(I can say that. I am one).
5. On a more pronounced tone, the football team is notoriously the money sucking vacuum in any scholastic organization. Some schools are worse than others, and the football team avoids program cuttage before art, music, Science, English, Math, and all other sports teams. (usually in that order, too). More people make it into professions completely unrelated to anything football related, and even fewer make it to a professional football playing career.
6. All the advertising. My stance on how evil advertising is remains steadfast and unshakeable. So, in combination with all the breaks and pauses in football comes a flurry of advertisements. Even stadiums are filled with a mishmash of "supporting" companies. And super bowl commercials are famous. I know people who watch the super bowl for the commercials alone. Tell me, America, how is that NOT brainwashing?
So again, to the 90-something percent of Americans who adore football for some strange, baffling reason; could ya calm down? It's really not that great.
Also, please do not even attempt to change my opinion. I've felt this way since I was five years old and couldn't figure out why my daddy was glued to the screen during the autumn. Once I'm done with marching band, I will probably never even go to a football game ever again.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Wow. I just found this. My old high school blog. I couldn't remember the password to get to this so I made a whole new blog. I'm married now. To a wonderful man. He's not what I expected, but the most important things matter, and that is that he is a loving, supportive and active member with an unshakable testimony. He does make me laugh. He's just as energetic and active as I am, that's a plus. And yes, I do share a bed with him. It's not as "ew" as I would think. It quite comforting to have another warm body next to you. I'm usually cold. He has truly become my best friend. He knows more than just what I'm thinking, but knows how to deal with me and help me reach my goals. He takes care of me, and lets me take care of him in return. I'm happy! Marriage truly is about being equal. I guess I was so afraid it would end up being a cliche 1950s home where the wife has little to no say in matters. But it isn't. And I doubt it will ever turn out that way.
I am now a music major with a secret life as an English guru. I figure, I can always read, and write on my own time and not for a class or job. Yet I still have SO much to learn about music. I don't think I'll ever learn it all. I read every book either, but I cannot perform my French horn with out being the very best I can at it. And I want to perform.
I'm thankful for the experiences and friends I had growing up and in high school. I'm thankful for my family and everything my parents taught me. Being a cheesy Mormon is inevitable with my background. I'll always probably fight that, but one day I'll be glad it was always in my blood.
I am now a music major with a secret life as an English guru. I figure, I can always read, and write on my own time and not for a class or job. Yet I still have SO much to learn about music. I don't think I'll ever learn it all. I read every book either, but I cannot perform my French horn with out being the very best I can at it. And I want to perform.
I'm thankful for the experiences and friends I had growing up and in high school. I'm thankful for my family and everything my parents taught me. Being a cheesy Mormon is inevitable with my background. I'll always probably fight that, but one day I'll be glad it was always in my blood.
Friday, April 4, 2008
another wannabe song
During each lifetime we open doors
To let certain people inside
For better or worse; blessing or curse
They change us or help us find-
Something new
Some make us laugh, some make us cry
Others teach, others lie
Many love, and many hate
In us they create-
Something new
To let certain people inside
For better or worse; blessing or curse
They change us or help us find-
Something new
Some make us laugh, some make us cry
Others teach, others lie
Many love, and many hate
In us they create-
Something new
Sunday, March 30, 2008
'Doctor Drinks Yucky Drug in the Name of Science'
This was the name of an article in the newspaper. I kid you not. It made me laugh so hard that I HAD to give my own story. They were asking for it.
Doctor Glomroff was a young and eager doctor. That is, he was until he drank Zooflogh. He had his whole life ahead of him, a young doctor, recently married and with a beautiful wife expecting their first son. He wasunfortunatly caught up with a terrible scandal in Throft Medical University. A scandal accusing him and several other young doctors, of one-upping the older doctors. The men were caught in the act of bribing, and bullying the patients of other doctors to become their own patients. Experts called it "Medical Mutiny". He felt the only way to regain his medical reputation was to submit to human testing for the new "wonder drug" created by fellowcollegue Professor Hilda V. Snodtrapp. One of the doctors who would have been affected by the outrageous mutiny. Zooflogh was the name of the drug and it was designed to lessen allergy symptoms from animal-induced allergies. Snodtrapp's theory, was if one was a partially weakened animal, the allergies would simply not occur. The idea was brilliant, well-represented and fresh.Glomroff , who had experienced extreme animal allergies since youth promptly volunteered, in the name of science, to be the first human test. His hope was to be able to erase his reputation of taking part in what he called "the wrong crowd".
Snodtrapp was enthusiastic for Glomroff's support, and praised the man who once tried to rob her of patients for his bravery.
On Friday, November 13th, Glomroff bravely walked into Snodtrapp's dim basement laborotory. With friends, media, fellow doctors, scientists and eager onlookers, Glomroff swollowed the thick, pink medicine, and was ushered into a room previously arranged to house a plethora of animal allergens.
Over the microphone, Glomroff reported his observations as the first allergen was introduced - dog. "The medicine should be flavored," he noted, "it shouldn't have to smell like wet dog."Glomroff sat in the room for a full five minutes, praising the fact he wasn't experiencing any of his usual symptoms when he was normally around dog allergens which included itchy hands, wheezing, and a runny nose. "I can usually tell there's a dog nearby, because my nose starts drooling." he joked.
Glomroff was in the control room for a full 3 hours until the problems started. His nose started to drool. Proliferously. Snodtrapp was pleased and made a note to up the consistency dose. "I gave him a weakened dosage. I needed to see how long it would last." she reported.
Glomroff was about to be escorted out of the room when his countenence suddenly contorted. He began snarling, and drooling, from the mouth this time. His features strongly reembled a dog's as tufts of hair suddenly spouted from his back and arms. He ripped off his shirt and howled. When security tried to contain him, he growled and lunged, biting three men. Then heesaped into the lab wounding another eight men, and four women. Including Professor Snodtrapp, who dropped the antidote. Glamroff's figure increased by more than six times his original size! A security guard finally tranquilized Glomroff before he was bitten.
Glomroff is currently detained, but is raging in a secure cell on Alcatraz. The injured victims are being closely monitered. Snodtrapp is by far the most injured. As the ambulence took her away she was hysterical and was heard to cry "I fear I have created the werewolf!"
Further investigation is taking place to see what treatment is available and if these wolfish side effects can be avoided.
Doctor Glomroff was a young and eager doctor. That is, he was until he drank Zooflogh. He had his whole life ahead of him, a young doctor, recently married and with a beautiful wife expecting their first son. He wasunfortunatly caught up with a terrible scandal in Throft Medical University. A scandal accusing him and several other young doctors, of one-upping the older doctors. The men were caught in the act of bribing, and bullying the patients of other doctors to become their own patients. Experts called it "Medical Mutiny". He felt the only way to regain his medical reputation was to submit to human testing for the new "wonder drug" created by fellowcollegue Professor Hilda V. Snodtrapp. One of the doctors who would have been affected by the outrageous mutiny. Zooflogh was the name of the drug and it was designed to lessen allergy symptoms from animal-induced allergies. Snodtrapp's theory, was if one was a partially weakened animal, the allergies would simply not occur. The idea was brilliant, well-represented and fresh.Glomroff , who had experienced extreme animal allergies since youth promptly volunteered, in the name of science, to be the first human test. His hope was to be able to erase his reputation of taking part in what he called "the wrong crowd".
Snodtrapp was enthusiastic for Glomroff's support, and praised the man who once tried to rob her of patients for his bravery.
On Friday, November 13th, Glomroff bravely walked into Snodtrapp's dim basement laborotory. With friends, media, fellow doctors, scientists and eager onlookers, Glomroff swollowed the thick, pink medicine, and was ushered into a room previously arranged to house a plethora of animal allergens.
Over the microphone, Glomroff reported his observations as the first allergen was introduced - dog. "The medicine should be flavored," he noted, "it shouldn't have to smell like wet dog."Glomroff sat in the room for a full five minutes, praising the fact he wasn't experiencing any of his usual symptoms when he was normally around dog allergens which included itchy hands, wheezing, and a runny nose. "I can usually tell there's a dog nearby, because my nose starts drooling." he joked.
Glomroff was in the control room for a full 3 hours until the problems started. His nose started to drool. Proliferously. Snodtrapp was pleased and made a note to up the consistency dose. "I gave him a weakened dosage. I needed to see how long it would last." she reported.
Glomroff was about to be escorted out of the room when his countenence suddenly contorted. He began snarling, and drooling, from the mouth this time. His features strongly reembled a dog's as tufts of hair suddenly spouted from his back and arms. He ripped off his shirt and howled. When security tried to contain him, he growled and lunged, biting three men. Then heesaped into the lab wounding another eight men, and four women. Including Professor Snodtrapp, who dropped the antidote. Glamroff's figure increased by more than six times his original size! A security guard finally tranquilized Glomroff before he was bitten.
Glomroff is currently detained, but is raging in a secure cell on Alcatraz. The injured victims are being closely monitered. Snodtrapp is by far the most injured. As the ambulence took her away she was hysterical and was heard to cry "I fear I have created the werewolf!"
Further investigation is taking place to see what treatment is available and if these wolfish side effects can be avoided.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
My True Love
I watched Stardust yesterday. It was so cute! Probably one of my new favorite movies. But I got to thinking about this whole "true love" thing. Who is my true love? I guess I'm just being a hopeless romantic, but I decided to make a list of what I hope my true love will do and be like:
He has to have a sense of humor and make me laugh everyday
I want him to be a worthy member of my church, who served a full-time mission and loves the gospel.
It's be really nice if he can cook, and clean.... take care of himself, but he HAS to make amazing chocolate chip cookies.
I want him to know just about everything about me. I have this theory that that's pretty much what true love is anyway. Plus, if he can look at me and pretty much know what I'm thinking/ how I'll react, he's definetly a sensitive guy that any girl would love anyway.
He has to be active, or at least be wholly supportive of my goals to run marathons, tri-atheletes etc. I want to go on hikes or ride my bike with him at least.
I want him to love music. Music is a big part of my life, and the way I see it, is if he doesn't love music, he doesn't love me.
Loves me for my mind and considers my "hottness" to just be a huge benefit. Respects my feminist rants as well as other women.
Easy to talk to. I don't want a day to go by where I feel like I can't crawl into (oh, our bed, I guess... ew.) and tell him everything that happened, and how I feel at the end of the day. Also, I'd like to talk about anything that's going on in the world, debate politics, discuss philosophical, or just things in life at great lengths.
Creativity is essential. I don't want things to get boring in life. His proposal better be amazing, with an original, yet smallish ring. silver. And any dates better not be the same ol' dinner and movie... everytime! It's okay every once in a while, but interesting variety is always really cool.
Puts up with my drama, and mood in the morning/not getting enough sleep(I'm nasty). And buys me fruit during "that time of month" (it's what I ALWAYS crave!) and treats me like a princess when I'm pregnant, because I am SURE I will not enjoy it.
Lets ME spoil HIM. because if he's as amazing as I hope, he deserves it!
Gives me lots of flowers, or ones I can plant. even better! I love flowers!!!
I'm sure the list will go on and on if I let it. But if I do, I'll never get married because the list is too long! Oh well, I just hope that I will have a shining, "happily ever after" true love, husband.... in about 7 years!
He has to have a sense of humor and make me laugh everyday
I want him to be a worthy member of my church, who served a full-time mission and loves the gospel.
It's be really nice if he can cook, and clean.... take care of himself, but he HAS to make amazing chocolate chip cookies.
I want him to know just about everything about me. I have this theory that that's pretty much what true love is anyway. Plus, if he can look at me and pretty much know what I'm thinking/ how I'll react, he's definetly a sensitive guy that any girl would love anyway.
He has to be active, or at least be wholly supportive of my goals to run marathons, tri-atheletes etc. I want to go on hikes or ride my bike with him at least.
I want him to love music. Music is a big part of my life, and the way I see it, is if he doesn't love music, he doesn't love me.
Loves me for my mind and considers my "hottness" to just be a huge benefit. Respects my feminist rants as well as other women.
Easy to talk to. I don't want a day to go by where I feel like I can't crawl into (oh, our bed, I guess... ew.) and tell him everything that happened, and how I feel at the end of the day. Also, I'd like to talk about anything that's going on in the world, debate politics, discuss philosophical, or just things in life at great lengths.
Creativity is essential. I don't want things to get boring in life. His proposal better be amazing, with an original, yet smallish ring. silver. And any dates better not be the same ol' dinner and movie... everytime! It's okay every once in a while, but interesting variety is always really cool.
Puts up with my drama, and mood in the morning/not getting enough sleep(I'm nasty). And buys me fruit during "that time of month" (it's what I ALWAYS crave!) and treats me like a princess when I'm pregnant, because I am SURE I will not enjoy it.
Lets ME spoil HIM. because if he's as amazing as I hope, he deserves it!
Gives me lots of flowers, or ones I can plant. even better! I love flowers!!!
I'm sure the list will go on and on if I let it. But if I do, I'll never get married because the list is too long! Oh well, I just hope that I will have a shining, "happily ever after" true love, husband.... in about 7 years!
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
homlessness
I recently traveled all over my state auditioning for various schools with my French horn. I went through the largest city and was slightly shocked to see two homeless men on the side of the road holding up cardboard signs. Call me naive, but in my small town, I honestly don't know of many homeless individuals. I've encountered homeless people before, but for some reason this time really hit me and I felt like running out of the car giving them all my money and a huge hug. I couldn't look at them.
We passed by the first man pretty quickly, but the second man was by the stop sign and the light was red, so we got to endure an uncomfortable moment while he sat on the corner with his sign, tattered clothes and dirty backpack, and my father and I sat in our minivan.
Several feeling rushed through my mind as we sat there for about 30 seconds. The first feeling incredibly grateful for all I have, and the chances I had been given to make good choices, and for making them. The second thoughts being along the lines of wondering what the man did to deserve his fate. His sign said, "Lost Everything. God Bless." No more explanation. No explanation was needed. It plainly appeared that I had been blessed with middle class fortunate circumstances, while he had the fuzzy end of the lollipop. I was thankful for those blessings.
Sitting at the stop light, the man caught my eye. He saw me watching him and briefly nodded. I gave him a weak smile, and then looked away, because I felt hot tears coming. I desperately wanted to call out to him and help him in someway. I wanted to give him some money, feed him, give him a ride, or just be his friend. I'm sure he needed one of those services. But I really didn't have much money I could give him, and since my dad was my driver and we were almost late for my next audition, I restrained myself. Society helped me rationalize my reasons for backing down by reminding me that there was probably a good reason he was on the street, and I wouldn't have wanted to be raped or cornered into buying him drugs.
Whatever reason he was on the street, my heart went out to him. Whoever he was, I'm sorry, and next time, I think I'll make a better effort not to judge him and help him somehow!
We passed by the first man pretty quickly, but the second man was by the stop sign and the light was red, so we got to endure an uncomfortable moment while he sat on the corner with his sign, tattered clothes and dirty backpack, and my father and I sat in our minivan.
Several feeling rushed through my mind as we sat there for about 30 seconds. The first feeling incredibly grateful for all I have, and the chances I had been given to make good choices, and for making them. The second thoughts being along the lines of wondering what the man did to deserve his fate. His sign said, "Lost Everything. God Bless." No more explanation. No explanation was needed. It plainly appeared that I had been blessed with middle class fortunate circumstances, while he had the fuzzy end of the lollipop. I was thankful for those blessings.
Sitting at the stop light, the man caught my eye. He saw me watching him and briefly nodded. I gave him a weak smile, and then looked away, because I felt hot tears coming. I desperately wanted to call out to him and help him in someway. I wanted to give him some money, feed him, give him a ride, or just be his friend. I'm sure he needed one of those services. But I really didn't have much money I could give him, and since my dad was my driver and we were almost late for my next audition, I restrained myself. Society helped me rationalize my reasons for backing down by reminding me that there was probably a good reason he was on the street, and I wouldn't have wanted to be raped or cornered into buying him drugs.
Whatever reason he was on the street, my heart went out to him. Whoever he was, I'm sorry, and next time, I think I'll make a better effort not to judge him and help him somehow!
Sunday, January 27, 2008
A verse to my song
This is a random verse I came up with last night. I kinda like it and I think I'll add more to it later And btw, it's Mozart's birthday today!!
I know it's a slow song,
But sometimes a slow song,
Is the best way to show how we feel
Perhaps then, a fast song,
A forget the past song
Helps us we all need to
Dance, dance, dance to the music
Dance because music is love!
I know it's a slow song,
But sometimes a slow song,
Is the best way to show how we feel
Perhaps then, a fast song,
A forget the past song
Helps us we all need to
Dance, dance, dance to the music
Dance because music is love!
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
WeirdFears
I also really don't like blood and guts that much. Seeing operations, or gory scenes on TV make me queasy. The prospect of being married and raising a family in the future scares me a bit too.
But, I have some weird little things that creep me out. For instance, when I wake up in the middle of the night with the unfortunate urge to pee, I have to plot out in my head exactly how I can get back into my comfy safe bed before the "toilet monster" eats me. I literally run back/scamper back to my room as quickly as possible because the roar of the toilet in the silence of the night scares me every time. This is something that has scared me since I was first potty trained had to pee in the middle of the night. So don't laugh too hard.
Along the lines of the "toilet monster" I have to run to take the trash out when it's dark. However, where I live a rabid coyote or something could eat me before I get back to the house(which is a mere 50 feet away). So, I guess that's a more reasonable fear. Maybe.
Thanks to an overactive imagination, Jurassic Park and Independence Day, aliens and Dinosaurs are always the evil villain, or monster that chases me in my nightmares. Even if the dream doesn't "feel" scary, the stupid dinosaurs always have the presence of something not-so-nice.
Am I just that weird?
Saturday, May 8, 2010
my letter
Another assignment I got a little too into. I'm section leader (thus revealing more of my nerdiness) and we had to write a letter of introduction to go out to all members of the band and future members. I initially started with a "valiant knight/battle" theme, but then changed it to avoid making the freshman think I was one of those uber nerds that pretend swordfight and religiously attend any medieval event. (which, in even further admittance to my personal nerdiness... sounds pretty fun. I like princesses!) this idea worked with this year's show a bit more.
Mello Agents:
You have been selected to serve in a top secret mission to play the F mello for the Pride of New Mexico Marching Band. Your mission is to infiltrate the organization, learn their ways and methods by mastering the music, and perfecting your marching technique. You will report to the agents Callie Schaub and Keisha Twitchell. You will recognize them by their status as “section leader” and they will present you with your disguise.
Include these items in your armory wardrobe:
• Protection-sunscreen, sunglasses, and hats will not only aid your disguise, but prevent the alteration of your original identity from harmful Las Crucian sun rays.
• Proper attire- nothing to draw too much unnecessary attention from the opposite sex, but enough to blend with the Aggie mass. Proper enough to provide quick reflexes and narrow escapes. Good shoes. No Flip flops. Speedy bike, foot or car chases are a possibility.
• Nutrition- Eat well. Espionage has no tolerance for inadequate nutrition or dehydration.
• Know the blueprints, and plan of attack, bring a lyre and flip folder.
• The Pride band will issue your F Mello arsenal upon arrival. This is your partner. Take care to embrace her full functionality and perfect intonation of the instrument. This IS your assignment. Play her perfectly. Know her pitch tendancies. Take care not to let yourself fall for the enticing tonality of this instrument. She’s only playing with your mind, and does not want to form a lasting relationship. She will leave you at the end of the season.
This is your assignment. Do it well. Report to the “section leaders”. Don’t draw attention to yourself, and learn all information you can. Good Luck.
Agents,
K. Twitch
C. Schwab
P.S. Destroy this message after reading.
Mello Agents:
You have been selected to serve in a top secret mission to play the F mello for the Pride of New Mexico Marching Band. Your mission is to infiltrate the organization, learn their ways and methods by mastering the music, and perfecting your marching technique. You will report to the agents Callie Schaub and Keisha Twitchell. You will recognize them by their status as “section leader” and they will present you with your disguise.
Include these items in your armory wardrobe:
• Protection-sunscreen, sunglasses, and hats will not only aid your disguise, but prevent the alteration of your original identity from harmful Las Crucian sun rays.
• Proper attire- nothing to draw too much unnecessary attention from the opposite sex, but enough to blend with the Aggie mass. Proper enough to provide quick reflexes and narrow escapes. Good shoes. No Flip flops. Speedy bike, foot or car chases are a possibility.
• Nutrition- Eat well. Espionage has no tolerance for inadequate nutrition or dehydration.
• Know the blueprints, and plan of attack, bring a lyre and flip folder.
• The Pride band will issue your F Mello arsenal upon arrival. This is your partner. Take care to embrace her full functionality and perfect intonation of the instrument. This IS your assignment. Play her perfectly. Know her pitch tendancies. Take care not to let yourself fall for the enticing tonality of this instrument. She’s only playing with your mind, and does not want to form a lasting relationship. She will leave you at the end of the season.
This is your assignment. Do it well. Report to the “section leaders”. Don’t draw attention to yourself, and learn all information you can. Good Luck.
Agents,
K. Twitch
C. Schwab
P.S. Destroy this message after reading.
an attempt at poetry
Another retrieved from facebook file. This was an assignment for my Astronomy class. Sometimes with projects like this, I get really into them. And the outcome makes me really excited. I actually got too excited about this project and ended up doing it slightly wrong and didn't get the A+++++ I was hoping for :( But I had fun! And I love Mars!
Mars was so mysterious
Once upon a time ago,
A man, quite delirious,
Percival Lowell took a go
And claimed to see canals on Mars through telescope.
The public went ballistic!
“The Martian’s!” They would scream.
Other scholars deemed “Unrealistic!”
But public favor did over dream
It took years of great revival
To get things settled down
Famous books arose about survival
From Martian wars with much-a frown.
Theories rose and theories fell
On what Mars was really like
Around 1965, Mariner 4, chimed her bell
And told Martian-believers to take a hike.
Photographs of barren land
Rocks and dirt, and dirt and rocks
Lots of craters, made things bland
No civilization or ounce of biological stock
Further explorations went to prove
Mars was dead.
No magma squish to make land move
Iron made Mars dirt red.
The atmosphere was much to thin and chill
And mostly CO2,
To handle life with any frill…
Mars would need more heat to brew
But wait there’s more!!
Scientists can all conclude
The life right now is just a bore.
But could there, would there, in the past
Be a sign of life, that died out last?
More missions sent.
Photographs and data came back
Careful analysis underwent…
Evidence of water? That’s wack!
However possible! It may seem!!
Geological finds are similar to Earthy rock
Suggests some H2O on this reddish rock
Samples of a little pebble
Show similarities of Earth’s hematite-y!
A rock formed here by water:
On a planet named after the lover of Aphrodite!
Life no more, but life again?
What else is new on this red sphere?
A space stations there in 2010!
A future there could soon be near!
Mars was so mysterious
Once upon a time ago,
A man, quite delirious,
Percival Lowell took a go
And claimed to see canals on Mars through telescope.
The public went ballistic!
“The Martian’s!” They would scream.
Other scholars deemed “Unrealistic!”
But public favor did over dream
It took years of great revival
To get things settled down
Famous books arose about survival
From Martian wars with much-a frown.
Theories rose and theories fell
On what Mars was really like
Around 1965, Mariner 4, chimed her bell
And told Martian-believers to take a hike.
Photographs of barren land
Rocks and dirt, and dirt and rocks
Lots of craters, made things bland
No civilization or ounce of biological stock
Further explorations went to prove
Mars was dead.
No magma squish to make land move
Iron made Mars dirt red.
The atmosphere was much to thin and chill
And mostly CO2,
To handle life with any frill…
Mars would need more heat to brew
But wait there’s more!!
Scientists can all conclude
The life right now is just a bore.
But could there, would there, in the past
Be a sign of life, that died out last?
More missions sent.
Photographs and data came back
Careful analysis underwent…
Evidence of water? That’s wack!
However possible! It may seem!!
Geological finds are similar to Earthy rock
Suggests some H2O on this reddish rock
Samples of a little pebble
Show similarities of Earth’s hematite-y!
A rock formed here by water:
On a planet named after the lover of Aphrodite!
Life no more, but life again?
What else is new on this red sphere?
A space stations there in 2010!
A future there could soon be near!
my peanut butter chronicles
I am an avid fan of peanut butter. Here are some of my afore-written odes and essays. More will probably follow if I am ever inclined to share my feelings on how marvelous peanut butter is again:
SO my lovely roommate requested that I take out my passions online instead of her.
Peanut Butter is fantastic. It has the amazing nutty aroma and the perfect zang of stick to your mouth goodness. And Jelly is even more superb. It's many varieties of smished fruit combine with the nutty smear of peanut butter make the perfect balance of what I can imagine how acids and bases balance each other out in a chemical reaction. And then the bread. Two solid slices of carby delisiousness keep the chemical balance together. The bread is solid, the peanut butter and jelly smooth and rich... like edible mud. All together the Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich is the Perfect Sandwich. It's like stepping into a pile of wet earth and feeling it squish between your toes, With wee bits of stable green grass poking through keeping the mud in place. It's stress relief after a day of rigid high heels. Peanut butter and jelly take the place of the aromatic earth, as it leaves a youthful oder of a room of elementary children during lunch. PBJ sandwiches are youthful. They keep us young and alive. Embrace the PB&J in you and keep it close to your heart. And may the kisses to your loved one be sticky, reminding you of your 3 year old childhood.
So I love Peanut Butter. I think its something I got from my grandpa who also loves the delectable condiment, as well as anything containing peanuts. But I wanted to write a note on a brand new Peanut Butter idea that I came across, and wanted to share and see if there were any other Peanut Butter lovers who also think this idea should come to pass. Here's the story:
My boyfriend, Kason, and I were giving our dear friend Angel a ride to a church dance. Angel got the hiccups and announced that the only way to cure her hiccups was for her to eat Peanut Butter (She's a Peanut Butter lover too). After this announcement a conversation ensued on what the best possible way to get emergency Peanut Butter to Angel when a case of annoying hiccups arose. Somehow, the conclusion was to make small packets of Peanut Butter, similar to small packets of Ketchup, or Mustard, or Mayonnaise that you get with hamburgers. Then you could also pair them with packets of jam or jelly and have instant healthy snacks on crackers. Or, you could save yourself from washing a spoon when digging in the jar for a smackeral of Peanuttiness. Plus, the biggest benefit, they are small enough for Angel to carry around with her and to whip out and stop her hiccups. Another great benefit! Ooh! FLAVORED Peanut Butter Packets!! or NUTELLA packets for the chocolate inclined!!
*disclaimer. This was an idea of Kason, Keisha, and Angel combined(not sure who for sure) and if you steal our idea we will sue you for a million jillion dollars and a lifetime supply of gourmet Peanut Butter. Plus stealing is bad and make you an automatic weenie. And if this is already an idea and you know where to BUY Peanut Butter Packets, please let me know!!!
SO my lovely roommate requested that I take out my passions online instead of her.
Peanut Butter is fantastic. It has the amazing nutty aroma and the perfect zang of stick to your mouth goodness. And Jelly is even more superb. It's many varieties of smished fruit combine with the nutty smear of peanut butter make the perfect balance of what I can imagine how acids and bases balance each other out in a chemical reaction. And then the bread. Two solid slices of carby delisiousness keep the chemical balance together. The bread is solid, the peanut butter and jelly smooth and rich... like edible mud. All together the Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich is the Perfect Sandwich. It's like stepping into a pile of wet earth and feeling it squish between your toes, With wee bits of stable green grass poking through keeping the mud in place. It's stress relief after a day of rigid high heels. Peanut butter and jelly take the place of the aromatic earth, as it leaves a youthful oder of a room of elementary children during lunch. PBJ sandwiches are youthful. They keep us young and alive. Embrace the PB&J in you and keep it close to your heart. And may the kisses to your loved one be sticky, reminding you of your 3 year old childhood.
So I love Peanut Butter. I think its something I got from my grandpa who also loves the delectable condiment, as well as anything containing peanuts. But I wanted to write a note on a brand new Peanut Butter idea that I came across, and wanted to share and see if there were any other Peanut Butter lovers who also think this idea should come to pass. Here's the story:
My boyfriend, Kason, and I were giving our dear friend Angel a ride to a church dance. Angel got the hiccups and announced that the only way to cure her hiccups was for her to eat Peanut Butter (She's a Peanut Butter lover too). After this announcement a conversation ensued on what the best possible way to get emergency Peanut Butter to Angel when a case of annoying hiccups arose. Somehow, the conclusion was to make small packets of Peanut Butter, similar to small packets of Ketchup, or Mustard, or Mayonnaise that you get with hamburgers. Then you could also pair them with packets of jam or jelly and have instant healthy snacks on crackers. Or, you could save yourself from washing a spoon when digging in the jar for a smackeral of Peanuttiness. Plus, the biggest benefit, they are small enough for Angel to carry around with her and to whip out and stop her hiccups. Another great benefit! Ooh! FLAVORED Peanut Butter Packets!! or NUTELLA packets for the chocolate inclined!!
*disclaimer. This was an idea of Kason, Keisha, and Angel combined(not sure who for sure) and if you steal our idea we will sue you for a million jillion dollars and a lifetime supply of gourmet Peanut Butter. Plus stealing is bad and make you an automatic weenie. And if this is already an idea and you know where to BUY Peanut Butter Packets, please let me know!!!
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Dream Spidey Loo
I love Spiderman.
He is by the classiest and most original of all superheros. He's not extreaneously rich. He doesn't have millions of doo-dads and hum-haws. He leads a moderately normal life in his secret identity, and has emotional baggage no more complex than mine. (Mary Jane is annoying.) He can beat up bad guys with ninja agility and has rippling muscles. He IS the coolest superhero, and my mind will never change about that!
My infatuation with Spidey began in high school when the movies first came out. I didn't have a crush on Tobey Maguire. I had a crush on Spiderman! I actually thought James Franco was a lot cuter. Anyway. I bought Spiderman sheets for my bed in 10th grade. My friends began giving me miscellaneous Spiderman stuff for birthdays and Christmas. For high school graduation, my mom's family gave me an entire pool table full(the pool table in the basement was covered) of spiderman stuff. That's right. stuff. I was in spidey heaven.
In college, I decorated my side of the dorm room in blue and red. I had a huge Spiderman poster above my bed. My school supplies were all Spiderman. Pencils, pencil bags, folders and even back pack. I had spidey towels and washcloths. It was awesome.
Then I got married. While My husband likes Spiderman as well, I can't really stick a spidey poster above our bed, as it might make him jealous. Or people who visit our teeny apartment and get the 10 second tour would think we have really strange fetishes or marital issues. So the glorious spiderman poster has been rolled up and stashed in the closet.
I miss him. I miss coming home and seeing Spiderman's muscles. He protected me from the dorm weirdos, and always sparked fun conversations with my roommate's friends. So, today I decided that I would have Spiderman decoration in my house.
Now. The problem with spiderman stuff, is that 90% of it is geared toward five-year old boys. I don't have a five-year old boy. Nor a five-year old girl I could brainwash into Spidermanphillia. I don't have a kid. And when I do have a kid, I'm not so sure I want to share my Spiderman towel with him. There's a shortage of mature, classy looking spiderman decoration and stuff on the market. And I'm afraid to google "mature spiderman attire" THOSE kinds of people really do have weird fetishes and marital issues... or aren't married.
Nah. I've opted for the bathroom. Because reasons being, if I'm taking a dump, I like to be surrounded by pleasant things. I like it to be friendly. Spiderman is both pleasant and friendly. And if people use my bathroom during a social gathering of friends, they can come out of the loo and we can have a pleasant conversation about how "Spiderman freaking rocks, and makes much better bathroom decor than batman" I imagine bright colors and heroic displays of muscle awesomeness. Plus, I already have a spidey trash can.
The five-year old boy barrier strikes again. I can't seem to find anything of worth. I mean I don't want a silver spidey soap dish and wool-cotton biggie spidey towels. But the only things I can find are obviously for five-year old boys' bathrooms. For parents who have one five-year old son and feel the complusion to decorate his bathroom with cheap spidey crap when he will probably grow out of his spidey fetish in one year when he decides sports are much cooler.
I'm not a five-year old boy! I'm a 20-year old woman, and I want classy spidey in my bathroom! I probably will like Spiderman when I'm 50, because I plan on being a cool grandma.
I'm on the hunt for really cool Spiderman fabric, that looks like the vintage comic strip. And I'll make my own Spiderman shower curtain.
He is by the classiest and most original of all superheros. He's not extreaneously rich. He doesn't have millions of doo-dads and hum-haws. He leads a moderately normal life in his secret identity, and has emotional baggage no more complex than mine. (Mary Jane is annoying.) He can beat up bad guys with ninja agility and has rippling muscles. He IS the coolest superhero, and my mind will never change about that!
My infatuation with Spidey began in high school when the movies first came out. I didn't have a crush on Tobey Maguire. I had a crush on Spiderman! I actually thought James Franco was a lot cuter. Anyway. I bought Spiderman sheets for my bed in 10th grade. My friends began giving me miscellaneous Spiderman stuff for birthdays and Christmas. For high school graduation, my mom's family gave me an entire pool table full(the pool table in the basement was covered) of spiderman stuff. That's right. stuff. I was in spidey heaven.
In college, I decorated my side of the dorm room in blue and red. I had a huge Spiderman poster above my bed. My school supplies were all Spiderman. Pencils, pencil bags, folders and even back pack. I had spidey towels and washcloths. It was awesome.
Then I got married. While My husband likes Spiderman as well, I can't really stick a spidey poster above our bed, as it might make him jealous. Or people who visit our teeny apartment and get the 10 second tour would think we have really strange fetishes or marital issues. So the glorious spiderman poster has been rolled up and stashed in the closet.
I miss him. I miss coming home and seeing Spiderman's muscles. He protected me from the dorm weirdos, and always sparked fun conversations with my roommate's friends. So, today I decided that I would have Spiderman decoration in my house.
Now. The problem with spiderman stuff, is that 90% of it is geared toward five-year old boys. I don't have a five-year old boy. Nor a five-year old girl I could brainwash into Spidermanphillia. I don't have a kid. And when I do have a kid, I'm not so sure I want to share my Spiderman towel with him. There's a shortage of mature, classy looking spiderman decoration and stuff on the market. And I'm afraid to google "mature spiderman attire" THOSE kinds of people really do have weird fetishes and marital issues... or aren't married.
Nah. I've opted for the bathroom. Because reasons being, if I'm taking a dump, I like to be surrounded by pleasant things. I like it to be friendly. Spiderman is both pleasant and friendly. And if people use my bathroom during a social gathering of friends, they can come out of the loo and we can have a pleasant conversation about how "Spiderman freaking rocks, and makes much better bathroom decor than batman" I imagine bright colors and heroic displays of muscle awesomeness. Plus, I already have a spidey trash can.
The five-year old boy barrier strikes again. I can't seem to find anything of worth. I mean I don't want a silver spidey soap dish and wool-cotton biggie spidey towels. But the only things I can find are obviously for five-year old boys' bathrooms. For parents who have one five-year old son and feel the complusion to decorate his bathroom with cheap spidey crap when he will probably grow out of his spidey fetish in one year when he decides sports are much cooler.
I'm not a five-year old boy! I'm a 20-year old woman, and I want classy spidey in my bathroom! I probably will like Spiderman when I'm 50, because I plan on being a cool grandma.
I'm on the hunt for really cool Spiderman fabric, that looks like the vintage comic strip. And I'll make my own Spiderman shower curtain.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Concert Etiquette 101
These are not in any significant order. Just a list of general guidelines for those who have no clue.
1. I live in the West, so the general uniform for anything is Jean and a T-Shirt. Even at funerals and wedding receptions. I use this general rule. The more you pay for the concert the more you should dress up. And if it's a recital of someone you know, you should probably don something a little nicer than Jeans and a T-shirt out of common courtesy and respect.
2. Don't clap in between movements.
3. Turn off your cell phone, iPod, pager, iPad, laptop, and all that other stuff. And keep it off. Even if you get a freaking text. It can wait.
3. Don't talk. Especially while someone is performing. Wait until the clapping begins to say something if you can't control your word vomit.
4. Don't be late. And if you are, sneak in during clapping.
5. Learn a little bit about the composer/piece/style of music before you declare you don't like it. Program notes are useful for learning stuff like that.
6. If you are there supporting a performer, tell them they did good, even if they were atrocious. What went wrong is for them to discuss with their private lesson instructor or other teacher.
7. If in supporting the performer, and they play something really weird that you don't like (see rule #5) don't tell them it was weird and you didn't like it. They probably worked their butt off learning it and may absolutely adore that piece or composer. You don't have to say anything about whether or not you enjoyed it, but do tell them they did well.
8. Only give standing ovations if the performance was phenomenal.
9. Don't fall asleep. And if you're supporting someone, don't fall asleep and admit to falling asleep.
10. Enjoy the concert/performance as much as possible and think about what it made you think about, remember, or feel!!
1. I live in the West, so the general uniform for anything is Jean and a T-Shirt. Even at funerals and wedding receptions. I use this general rule. The more you pay for the concert the more you should dress up. And if it's a recital of someone you know, you should probably don something a little nicer than Jeans and a T-shirt out of common courtesy and respect.
2. Don't clap in between movements.
3. Turn off your cell phone, iPod, pager, iPad, laptop, and all that other stuff. And keep it off. Even if you get a freaking text. It can wait.
3. Don't talk. Especially while someone is performing. Wait until the clapping begins to say something if you can't control your word vomit.
4. Don't be late. And if you are, sneak in during clapping.
5. Learn a little bit about the composer/piece/style of music before you declare you don't like it. Program notes are useful for learning stuff like that.
6. If you are there supporting a performer, tell them they did good, even if they were atrocious. What went wrong is for them to discuss with their private lesson instructor or other teacher.
7. If in supporting the performer, and they play something really weird that you don't like (see rule #5) don't tell them it was weird and you didn't like it. They probably worked their butt off learning it and may absolutely adore that piece or composer. You don't have to say anything about whether or not you enjoyed it, but do tell them they did well.
8. Only give standing ovations if the performance was phenomenal.
9. Don't fall asleep. And if you're supporting someone, don't fall asleep and admit to falling asleep.
10. Enjoy the concert/performance as much as possible and think about what it made you think about, remember, or feel!!
Monday, April 5, 2010
Musical Pizza
I recently heard a joke.
"What's the difference between a music major and a pizza?"
"A pizza can feed a family"
Now, this joke is kinda funny. If you're not a music major. Me being a music major was slightly downed by the joke not only because of my choice of a college major, but because I think of myself as a pretty good cook. :)
I couldn't really let myself be too offended by the joke because the joker was an electrical engineer. And try as I might, I support his career every single stinking day. When I turn off my alarm clock. Take a shower, blow dry my hair and drive to school. Then I go to classes in fancy building designed and built by architects and assisted by... electrical engineers.
I'm very glad these architects and engineers do the things they do. I like my warm showers and lights on at night. But I can't help wondering what would happen if more people in the world supported MY career choice and all other aspects of other people's artistic endeavors?
I'm certain there would be no doubt in the world as the whether a music major could feed his or her family just as well as a pizza.
"What's the difference between a music major and a pizza?"
"A pizza can feed a family"
Now, this joke is kinda funny. If you're not a music major. Me being a music major was slightly downed by the joke not only because of my choice of a college major, but because I think of myself as a pretty good cook. :)
I couldn't really let myself be too offended by the joke because the joker was an electrical engineer. And try as I might, I support his career every single stinking day. When I turn off my alarm clock. Take a shower, blow dry my hair and drive to school. Then I go to classes in fancy building designed and built by architects and assisted by... electrical engineers.
I'm very glad these architects and engineers do the things they do. I like my warm showers and lights on at night. But I can't help wondering what would happen if more people in the world supported MY career choice and all other aspects of other people's artistic endeavors?
I'm certain there would be no doubt in the world as the whether a music major could feed his or her family just as well as a pizza.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Not a Mormon Mommy Blog
I have a good friend who once forbade me to ever start a "Mormon Mommy Blog". His definition of a "Mormon Mommy Blog" essentially being "a blog created by young married mormon girls, aspiring to be only mommies and who blog to share their somewhat shallow and vague opinions, and testimonies with those who read them. While I cannot promise everything I post to be profound and genius I will declare that, although being a young married LDS woman, I am not yet a mommy. I do plan on being a mommy in the future, but it is not my only goal. I'm a full time student studying music education. I love to read. I'm very active in my religion, and I love my family and my husband very much. But those kinds of sentiments are for my personal journal, not a blog. I think I will use this blog to post story ideas, short essays (as I have always enjoyed writing intellectual and satirical essays, as well as book, movie and music reviews. Perhaps even sad attempts at poetry... but not many. This is my creative outlet to continue writing and analyzing readings in congruence to my current music endeavors.
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