Querulous

Female
from Saratoga Springs, NY

  • Activity

    • Next year, and more music

      11 years ago

      Querulous

      Saints alive, I've been so busy these past few weeks!! And I go back to school next weekend! Yaaawow! I'm looking forward to it with tense anticipation. I can already tell that it's going to be quite a grug.
      Yes, I said grug, and I meant grug.
      Sigh... I wish Red vs Blue wasn't over. I wish I could have gotten to know Mr. Burns, but that was a foolish fancy. I just ordered the Season 5 DVD. Whee! I'm sure the complete set will grant me hours of pleasant perusal at college.
      College! I'm going to be a senior!! Every time I remember that, I'm filled with excited panic. I've been meaning to get a metronome, I should see if I can find one when I go to pick up my violin tomorrow (the blasted D-string broke again, after I just replaced it!). My confounded fingers never do keep time, and I fear that my baton technique may suffer the same problem if I don't attend to it. A conductor can't allow its tempo to wander, you know, except at certain, carefully chosen times (I know the pronoun "its" is awkward, but I'm tired of saying "his or her" all the time. Why can't there be a good pronoun for "person" that doesn't gender-discriminate??).
      I finally read Gunther Schuller's Compleat Conductor a couple weeks ago, and it was splendid. I shrank rather from reading it during the school year, afraid it would be terribly difficult, but I shrank needlessly--he writes most engagingly.
      Sigh. Someone less agnostic or pragmatic than I might say it is unjust, that one fellow can not only compose and conduct well, but research and write well, too. Truth to tell, I don't love most of Dr. Schuller's compositions, but he did win a Pulitzer prize, so that counts for something. And one needs to grow into certain composers, you know. I am young yet, still in the chrysalis years--Faure and Dvorak and Britten and Smetana. I love Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, but do not fully appreciate their genius yet. This I know. But I believe I will in time. I want to understand very much; I want to know why listening is wonderful, not just drift along. I want to comprehend the method behind the magic, to be able to recognize echoes of the same techniques in other pieces.
      Then, then, when I can fully understand and appreciate the work of the old masters--well, not fully, for that would be a lifetime ambition, but at least somewhat--then perhaps I will move to the experiments of the contemporary composers, embrace their mastery, as naturally as one moves from, say, Shakespeare to Faulkner. I still don't like or understand Faulkner either, but I hope to in time, without ever forgetting--or truly comprehending--the genius of Shakespeare.
      Sigh. Never mind, the analogy isn't a true one, but I'm too tired to come up with a better. Up at five tomorrow for work at the kennel, so I'd best be off. I hope they have a few bulldogs!

    • Long-winded, on friends

      12 years ago

      Querulous

      Actually, that "This does not amuse us" picture is the real picture of me. I don't know who added the text. So possible stalkers, beware.
      Ugh. I don't think I'll ever understand the way most people think about romance, and particularly how they view the opposite sex. They're so... simplistic about it. They just... they enjoy going out and meeting people randomly and immediately starting a romance with them. By "they," of course, I'm merely talking about most of the people I've seen and spoken to.
      That sort of scene makes me really uncomfortable. I tried it in Italy, thought it would be fun; I was bored and highly uncomfortable in about five minutes. Probably I would have just been bored had not a young man actually singled me out and started chattering nonsense at me and trying to get me to have a beer (it would have been bad enough in English). I'm not particularly attractive, by modern standards, so I've no idea what drew him to me... but rather than being flattered, I just wanted to get away.
      It's just... I might look across a room and find a fellow handsome. No doubt about it (of course, my view of handsome tends to differ from the norm as well...). But that's not enough. It needs to be someone who can, well, frankly, engage me in conversation. I've no patience for empty small talk, and I get restless quickly if there are long, awkward silences--if they can't respond to my attempts at talking about interesting things (at least what I consider interesting, but bear in mind, that encompasses a very broad spectrum of subjects). For instance, say, they don't read unless they have to, they never see plays except for the occasional Broadway musical, they have no interest or understanding about current world situations, they listen to whatever music is popular, they go to see movies like Wedding Crashers for entertainment (or watch horrid TV shows), and their idea of a fun night is simply to go out and get drunk. Nothing else. Never anything else.
      You'd be amazed at how many people fill not just one or two, but ALL these criteria.
      Now, I don't hold these things against a person. They may still be quite nice. But they're not best friend or romance material, is all. For me. I'm sure for many people, they would be. I meet these folks all the time and can enjoy their company on a superficial level for a bit; acquaintances, the types you meet at work and at school often. And sometimes, I'll admit freely, someone who seems like an acquaintance at first can turn out to be a best friend or a paramour.
      And even fulfillment of some of those criteria isn't necessarily enough... sigh... I suppose I am too picky, but there it is. I bear the consequences of it, at any rate, for I have very few close friends and numerous acquaintances.
      But personality is important too. I've known people who did have an interest in books, movies, and the world, but were insufferably arrogant. I've known quite intelligent people who were incapable of carrying on conversation not because of lack of knowledge, but lack of any self-confidence. I try to draw those types out, because sometimes they are really very splendid people, but sometimes... well, I'm not a psychologist, and sooner or later I get frustrated. I like to talk. To share and to learn. There is a balance. I've met people who unfortunately fell on either wrong side of the balance: some who are always sharing, but never listening, so there is no back-and-forth, and some who never give anything back, voice any opinions, or draw out any more discussion.
      There have been few people indeed in my life with whom I had a splendid rapport. There was Jennifer, my best friend of seventh grade, who lives in North Carolina now... Paul, who is now angry with me, so we are estranged... Rachel, I suppose, my best friend of childhood, although her areas of interest were always different from mine (but we remain close, which is nice)... and Scott R., who lives on Long Island. Scott is the only one I still have regular contact with. He is great. We can talk for hours and hours... and do, often, by phone. No romantic interest there (I must, with some shame, admit that I have trouble being attracted to men who are large, and he is, somewhat. Also, he smokes, so that in itself would be enough), but he is probably my best friend, even though we have only met in person a handful of times. He is amazing. He knows so much about so many things, but he's not oppressive about it; he is so funny, so witty, and so... I don't know, kind. He is somewhat older than I am--is he really thirty now??--but it doesn't seem to inhibit us. We don't agree on everything, of course, although I do greatly value his viewpoints, because they are always so well-researched. Our latest debate is over religion. I have trouble seeing anything good about it; he thinks there is some, in its less extreme forms. I think he relies too heavily on wishful thinking, though. He feels that there may be truth in religious teachings--that there may be a god, or gods, or fate, or some forces controlling/shaping/observing us. I have to admit that I don't. I admit that those thing are all possible, just the way it's possible that flying pink unicorns escort us to the land of happy manure when we die; I just don't think it's likely. I think it's wishful thinking.
      In any case. I haven't heard from him in awhile, he must be busy. He works as an accountant for... heaven knows, an insurance company, I think. I don't know much about economics and business, though I do enjoy listening to his tales of work. Can you believe, his superior is actually named Aragorn? No joke. That's his real name.
      Isn't it funny that I have trouble making conversation with many musicians--the field where I am probably most knowledgeable (although that doesn't say much)--yet I can make effortless, long conversation with an accountant, of all things? Of course, if his interests were ONLY in accounting, it would be different.

    • Dialogue

      12 years ago

      Querulous

      Who am I?
      Who are you?
      No one of any consequence.
      That could be said for any human being on Earth.
      No one of any Earthly consequence.
      Who are you?
      I love creatures.
      What else?
      Music. Beauty. Beautiful books and movies. Beautiful music.
      What else?
      People. But I am afraid of them.
      Why?
      Because they hurt me.
      Why?
      Because I am bad.
      Why are you bad? What makes you bad?
      Everything. No one likes my true self. I hide it away but it breaks out. The things I do and say are bad. The things I think are bad. The way I think is bad. The way I look is bad.
      Who says so?
      People I care about.
      All the people you care about?
      Yes.
      They all say you are bad?
      They all say that different, specific things are bad. Some of them contradict each other. All in all, it pretty much covers my entire persona.
      Are there any people whose opinions don't matter?
      No.
      So if anyone says something bad, you automatically assume it's true?
      Yes.
      Why?
      Because I am bad. Because they wouldn't say it if I weren't bad. If I didn't act in bad ways. people wouldn't say bad things about me.
      Do you say bad things about people?
      Yes. But mostly I think bad things about people.
      Why?
      Because I am bad. I have no right to think poorly of anyone else.
      Why not?
      Because I'm not perfect. I shouldn't expect them to be.
      So if someone says something bad about you, it must be true, but if you say or think something bad about someone else, it's because of your innate viciousness?
      Yes.
      Why? Why do they have the right to say bad things, but you don't?
      Because I am bad. If I weren't bad, they wouldn't say bad things about me.
      But if you say something bad about someone else, that doesn't mean they're bad?
      No. It means that I am bad, petty, jealous, and spiteful.
      But if someone says something bad about you, it doesn't mean they're bad, petty, etc.
      No. Too many people have said bad things.
      Like who?
      People I wanted to love me.
      Like who?
      Matt. Marvin. Mr. Parvin. Mr. Rapp. Jennifer. Paul. Aaron. Ben. Julia.
      But if people only told you good things, and kept the bad things locked inside them, wouldn't that mean they were dishonest with you?
      There shouldn't be any bad things. If I were good, they wouldn't have anything bad to say.
      So you expect yourself to be entirely "good," never bad in any way?
      Yes. Why shouldn't I be? Other people seem to be. They never apologize for doing hurtful things. They never worry about hurting other people. They obviously think their actions are justified.
      Do you think they're justified?
      No.
      No?
      It doesn't matter what I think. I have no control over their actions. They think they are good, perfect. That is all that matters.
      Why should that be? Doesn't what you think matter?
      No. It doesn't affect anything.
      You have no power over anyone?
      None.
      Do you want power?
      Yes.
      Do others have power over you?
      Yes.
      Why?
      Because I care about them.
      And they don't care about you?
      Not the same way. They would never think to try to please me, or do something nice for me, just because. They would never study me, try to understand me. They would never give to me.
      Do you try to please? Do you do nice things? Do you try to understand others, and give?
      Always.
      Why?
      I am selfish. I want power. Also, I want others to do the same for me, which is also selfish.
      Is everything selfish? Do you have "good" motivations for anything you do?
      I don't know. Maybe. Saving the baby bird. Stupid Julia thought that was a waste.
      Why does that bother you?
      Because she was so insensitive. Life had no meaning for her, so she just threw it away. How could she live that way? Always bored, always whining, always shirking her duties and skipping her classes; always waiting for someone else to clean up her messes or give her success. She was so selfish, so self-centered. If I didn't want to go to a movie with her one time, it was a huge deal. Nothing mattered but what she wanted. She had no sense of responsibility, of compassion for another living thing; anything that didn't look exactly as she wanted it to was "ugly," and she never stopped to consider, to look for the beauty within. She was so blind, so callous in her unknowing way. She would have given Andante to someone; she didn't care about her at all. She would have left the baby bird to die without a qualm. Why should she care about another life? Why, indeed.
      She thought badly of you.
      Fuck her.
      Why does it still make you so angry?
      Because I feel as though I must deserve it. The fault must be with me. I hate her. I wish she would leave Skidmore and never come back. I don't want to see her ever again.
      Why?
      Because... she thinks badly of me.
      Not because you think badly of her?
      That too. Combined guilt for thinking badly of her, anger for her thinking badly of me, and wretched inability to rectify the situation.
      Rectify it how? You don't want to be her friend, do you?
      No, but I feel like I should make her not think badly of me any more--or make her believe it was her fault. I told you I was spiteful.
      You can't make that happen.
      I know. That's why I said "wretched inability, etc."
      Why do you feel as though you should be able to? Why can't you forget?
      Because as long as she's there thinking badly of me, I won't be able to escape the feeling that it's all my fault, that I'm a bad person.
      Why should her thinking matter to you? You don't like her, you think she's contemptible.
      What right do I have to pass judgment?
      I'm going in circles.

    • Rats, religion, resignation

      12 years ago

      Querulous

      So my brother and I saw Ratatouille, which was really cute. I love Pixar, and Brad Bird... they make such great kids'-movies-for-adults. Plus, I like rats.
      Speaking of which, Andante keeps pushing aspen bedding out of her cage and onto my bedroom floor. I wish she wouldn't.
      Ugh! Religion. I know, I know, it's not all bad, gives people hope, does charitable work, etc., etc. I still haven't been able to stop thinking of it as an essentially harmful (though I suppose natural) entity. It creates fear. It can't help it. It gives people these false comforts but it can't take away the fact that deep down underneath, no one knows anything. We don't know whether there's any kind of higher power. We don't know what awaits us after death. That, in essence, I think, is what makes us human. But people don't want to face that fact, so they pad the knowledge with religious myths. But deep down, they always know. And so while they may be comforted briefly by their soothing fantasies, being among others who claim to never doubt the bliss that awaits them in afterlife... the doubt remains, and cannot be suppressed, and anything that challenges the beliefs of the religion becomes a terrifying thing, because it chips at the thin walls of the religion and wakens the doubt inside. It says, "Well if that belief isn't true, what about the rest?" Evolution, gay marriage, women's rights, there are a number of examples of issues that would be extremely clear-cut and non-hurtful--if it weren't for religion.
      Better to accept the doubt. It's uncomfortable, but at least it lets you accept the truth. Besides, it doesn't mean you can't find meaning in your life. Religious people never understand that. They become so dependent on their fantasies that they really can't understand how someone could be confident and happy in life without it. They don't understand that morals are (in a psychologically healthy person) ingrained in us by evolution, and it gives us happiness to be kind to others. They don't understand that you can find your own meaning to be alive, and it is all the sweeter because it's all yours; it's not dependent on some ancient, error-riddled text or the belief that you have to be good or you'll go to a bad afterlife.
      Why do they focus so much on afterlife? Why don't they concentrate on this life, right here, right now? As far as they know--as far as anyone knows--this may be it. This may be everything they'll ever experience. Why waste that always worrying, always looking over one's shoulder for the frowning deity that may or may not be there? There is too much to be learned for that.
      Such foolishness. I have tried to understand, I have tried to see good in religion, but I would be telling an untruth if I said I thought it was a good thing, or even a neutral thing. I truly think it is a bad thing, and that we'd be much better off if it didn't exist. Many people would disagree with me, and maybe someday I'll change my mind, but for now, that is where I stand.
      Man is such a foolish, superstitious, worried, lonely, frightened, doubtful creature... I suppose it is the price we pay for our intelligence, and specifically, the knowledge of our own mortality.

    • The Grub

      12 years ago

      Querulous

      I've been blustering to friends and family about my trip to Italy, trying to make it sound good, but in all honesty, it wasn't. The trip itself was poorly planned and I spent much of the time there scared (I have strange fears, but the main one is getting sick), tired, and impatient. Pompeii was amazing, that I'll freely admit, and we had a great tour guide. The singing was fun, when I could close out the wrong notes and rhythms around me and forget the inaccuracy of several soloists (I've never been good at that. Call me nasty or picky, but I hate singing with people who aren't singing the music correctly). Probably my primary irritation was aimed at the mezzo-soprano soloist, who had plenty of time to learn her music and didn't. Mezzo is the part I sing, so while I can't say how we'd compare as far as vocal quality (though untrained, she did have a really lovely voice), I know I would've sung it correctly at least, so I was often fighting anger with her and with myself for not being back early enough to audition for the solo. At least I could have tried.
      So anyway. Italy was interesting but not an experience I want to repeat ever.
      Now I am back home, working at the kennel again. These eight-hour shifts are so tiring! Five hours I handled fine; I don't know why the extra three hours should make such a difference. It is fun, though. I'd rather work there than at summer camp again, or (last resort) accept Dad's offer of a clerical job somewhere in his company (Axa Financial). I mean really. I like sharpening pencils as much as the next chap, but if I'm going to do a job just for the summer, I want to mildly enjoy it, at least. I liked working with kids at camp (I've tried sleepaway and day camp), but the sleepaway camp is rather far and pays very little, while the day camp was even more exhausting than the kennel. Also, while I've always gotten along pretty well with most kids, I don't tend to relate well to the other counselors. Not that I've gotten in fights with them or anything like that; I just don't... make friends with them. So the dogs are nice, because you don't have to feel pressure to make friends with them or act in any careful way around them.
      I always feel like I have to... rein myself in with people, and it makes me very nervous. It's as though I have a peculiar ball of crazy, nervous, bizarre energy inside, and it always wants to come out--so when I'm with people I don't know well, or just "normal" people, as it were, I always have to hold it tightly in. This makes me tired and jittery. It's dreadful when people look at one strangely, isn't it? I don't know what makes me... different. Strange noises just seem to spring from me without forethought, strange thoughts and associations appear abruptly, strange movements or words or phrases somehow become habit... People seem to think I do it consciously, that I'm trying to be original or something. I know my mother does. But I really don't. I'm really not. People think I am strange for so many different things... and the question always arises, Should I change? Can I change? Do I want to change?
      I don't want to change. But I also don't want to be weird, to have so much trouble relating to people. I'm not sure I can have it both ways. I wish I understood what it is that makes me weird. I mean, my parents are fairly normal, as far as I can tell. As normal as any parent I've known. My brother is not... but he is not weird the way I am. He and I both have our psychological strangenesses, not the same ones. He can be quiet. I have not yet learned that art. He bottles up his feelings inside, though, and sometimes they come out at other people in sudden anger--that I am glad I don't have. But my way may not be better.
      It seems as though I can never find people who are interested in what I'm interested in. But why should that be? My interests are not so narrow. Not narrow at all. I love many books, many movies and plays, and it always interests me to talk about people, if nothing else.
      But... it seems like no one else likes to talk about these things with the same intensity. Maybe that's it. Sigh. I really don't know. All I know is that I tend to feel either nervous, bored, or both during most conversations with many of the people I meet at work and at school. I have no patience for empty small talk. Heh; my mother can never understand that. She is a master of small talk, and popular among the other high-school parents.
      Both of us love to talk, but... not in the same way. I don't know. Agh, there are so many things I don't know!

    • Embarkment

      12 years ago

      Querulous

      Aieee! I leave soon for Italy, along with Dr. Tramm's gaggle of miscreants (by which I mean, the choral group Coro Lirico). I'm somewhat nervous. I'm not a big fan of flying, especially overnight, as I have never been known to fall asleep in a sitting-up position. Ah, well.
      And P.S., how do I keep losing mod points? Every time I come on the site, it seems like my points have dropped again. I haven't posted on the forums in a long time, and I can't imagine someone searching through my journal for something to "flamebait"... So what's going on? Someone has a grudge against me, I guess. Sorry for whatever I did to you, person.
      (Cockbite.)

    • No one knows

      12 years ago

      Querulous

      Work at the kennel again today. I walked a darling little pug. They do make strange noises, though, don't they? There's something about that squashed face that makes it hard for them to breathe.
      I got nipped by an irate terrier and scraped against a tree, however. My poor hands. They do seem to scar easily. Ah, well. I don't want to look like some lily-handed pampered creature, after all. My hands work. They don't work nearly well enough, either. Always dried like lizardskin in the winter, clumsy on the violin, erratic on the piano, stiff with the baton. Not to mention cursed slow on the clarinet. I practiced that darn Jupiter (Holst, of course) for weeks and still didn't get it right.
      Practice, practice... sigh... there's just never any end to it.
      I still don't know what I'll do after college. I keep putting it off, hoping for an opportunity, which is always the worst way to go about things--comforting myself with the thought of applying for Teach America.
      It would be a noble cause, if I even got in (they're very selective). But it's just not quite... what I want to do. There probably wouldn't be much, if any, music involved. I like kids, but they wear me out fast, and I still haven't developed the necessary self-confidence. That's another thing I keep hoping will magically turn up (aided by meds and therapy). Blasted mental illness. My dysthymia has greatly lessened, for which I cannot help but be grateful, but now the fears rushing to take its place! The strange anxieties, obsessions (gods don't let them spawn compulsions), a return of insomnia, the never-absent presence of fear. Fear at what? Heaven knows. Everything and nothing.
      But it's not all bad. Not at all... I do, at least, sleep, though I keep waking up later than I would like. And I enjoy things again. Being with the dogs at the kennel, singing in Coro Lirico, reading, even arranging music for a cappella, all bring me such happiness... For anyone who has never had dysthymia or depression, it is impossible to describe. The illness saps at all your pleasures; everything becomes tiring, dull. "How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world."
      How could Shakespeare have known it so well, back when there was no such thing as depression, when anyone mentally ill was hidden in the family attic? Did he experience those feelings himself, or observe them in someone close? Or did he just... intuit? Such a master. There has never been a greater. Yet he never killed himself, as so many of the great artists... he wrote comedies as beautifully and well as tragedies. Tormented, perhaps, by the dichotomies of the world, of people... great joys and great sorrows. No one knows.
      God-touched, perhaps, if one believes in such things. I do not, but if I did, Shakespeare would be the one. Or just some one-in-a-billion mutation of genetics... that one perfect chord, that one unparalleled mix of matter and chemical. No one knows.

    • When snow melts, what does it become?

      12 years ago

      Querulous

      Today was my birthday. I wonder when Mr. Burns's birthday is? I asked him, but he probably won't see, or have time to respond, in any case. Perhaps they'll make a cartoon about it.
      It is hard to believe I'm 21... but, then, I go through that every year. I don't drink, so it's not a huge landmark or anything.
      I watched the last several episodes of Fruits Basket as the conclusion to the day. I wish they would make the second season of that... it ends on such an unfinished note. And there isn't even any romance (at least, any requited romance).
      Another year, an entire school year... what have I accomplished? Intangible gain, mostly. I feel as though college has changed me a lot. Each year is so different. Next year... next year I will be trying a Northwoods apartment once again, but without psycho housemates (at least, as far as I can tell). I will miss Ben so... I do miss him. Oh, why must people go? I hate being in school for that... you meet people, but you have a year or two with them, at most, and then they are gone, dissolving into the "real world" like river water into the sea... irrevocably changed, irrevocably lost. Not dead, but still, lost... occasional Facebook messages, in a desperate-hopeful attempt to bring back what is gone.
      I know, I know, you meet new people too, life is not an endless series of goodbyes... but it is so difficult for me to find, and make, close friends. Social ease is not something that comes naturally to me, and while I am not unfriendly, I am also not particularly... open. I think I missed something in middle school, when my primary social interaction was through books. There is something that keeps me from really relating to most people; I may like them on a superficial level, I may enjoy their company every now and then, but it isn't the same. I want people I can talk to for hours on end, people I feel comfortable with, people I can act strange around who will accept it.
      My mother thinks I am all affectation... but it isn't so. Part of it is. Part of it comes bursting out when I am frightened being around people. But part of it... is me. I don't know why, I don't even know what it is that makes me different, but it is there, and I hate it. People act like it's great, like it's something to be proud of, to be different, to be unusual, and if they read this they would probably think I was bragging. But the price one pays! The price one pays for strangeness! The price in loneliness, in fear, in desperate longing to be understood... Oh, how I want to be understood. Is that why I always try so hard to understand others? It could be. It bothers me that some of my strongest drives are really just... acting out what I wish someone would act out on me. But, then, "treat others as you would be treated," I suppose.
      And I do want so much to be understood... or at least for someone to try. Isn't that always wonderful? You can never entirely understand someone, of course... but having someone try, at least, is... such a nice feeling. It makes you feel worthwhile.
      Some people find it invasive--my always-trying-to-understand. So I have drawn back, in recent years, out of fear; I fear nothing so much as being discourteous or offensive. But I wish, I wish someone would do it to me.
      Humans! We are always so full of fear. And for what? We will all die, and be forgotten. Even the most outlandish exploits eventually fall into obscurity. Why are we such worriers, such obsessors, such... doubters?
      Well, that's the definition of being human, after all... to doubt. But why must doubt equal fear? Why do we have to try to invent incredible tales to explain those things we cannot know? I say "we," for I am as guilty as anyone, though I shun religion. Logically, I am utterly a cynic of the Greek school, believing in nothing I cannot see or experience myself; emotionally, psychologically, I am a superstitious nut, and it irritates me. I am so afraid of tempting fate that I never make certain statements about the future any more. I wish on stars. I've made preparing for concerts and recitals practically a ritualistic act.
      What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason--yet how lacking in translating that reason into thought and act.

    • Roosterteeth fugue

      12 years ago

      Querulous

      My brother and I finished watching the RvB Season 4 DVD today (I'd seen it several times, but he hadn't). I love the noises the little alien baby makes.
      Mr. Burns, as ever, is virtuosic... I don't know how he does it. He has such a range of expression. Church seems like the most dynamic one of the characters; he's the one who takes charge and makes things happen (except for the random catastrophes). I get the sense that this may also be the way Mr. Burns is (well, from the audio commentary, which may or may not be a good indicator). It would be quite something, I think, to know Mr. Burns in his private life.
      Mr. Saldana makes a rather convincing female. Mr. Fink--or is that Ramsey?--not so much, although I love his hair. I like Mr. Fink (at least, the characterization he puts forth on the website). He is most original. His voice is unusual. Actually, I guess all of the characters' voices are pretty distinctive, now I think of it. I especially like Doc, Church, and Tex. Mr. Hullum seems to be quite versatile. Ms. Cruz does a really good job as Sheila, too. She's gained a lot more character since the early days, and so has Lopez. Too bad their metallic romance was interrupted.
      Mr. Sorola is so funny as the Blue Zealot, and as Simmons when he gets all worked up. "It's a legitimate strategy!"
      Mr. Heyman is great too, but unfortunately (or, in many cases, I expect, fortunately) his voice is so distinctive that he can't really do other characters because he would be instantly recognizable. At least, it seems that way thus far; in the Strangerhood, you could tell it was him right away.
      It would be fun if they started a Roosterteeth Barber Shop, uh, sextet? Octet? Mr. Sorola is definitely a bass. Mr. Hullum could be a tenor, I think, along with Mr. Godwin and maybe Mr. Saldana. Mr. Burns seems like a baritone. Ms. Zuelch sounds like an alto... Ms. Cruz maybe a mezzo... Heehee! I wish they would. Mr. Audrey-Rowland could write a cappella songs for them to sing.

    • Bird songs

      12 years ago

      Querulous

      Ugh. American Idol. Don't people sing anymore? I miss the old days... like the 1800s... well, I would miss them if I had been born, anyway.
      My orchestration for Ms. Schwartz is almost done, then I can start my a cappella arrangement. I was chosen to arrange the Gilbert and Sullivan version of "Baby Got Back," which you can watch/listen to here: www.collegehumor.com/video:1741083/
      I personally think it's rather amusing.
      I can never get over how amazing Sibelius is. That's the composition program I use, and it's generally considered to be one of the best; a bit expensive, but the student rate isn't as bad, and it lasts a long time, of course. You can do just about anything! Change metre every measure, write for four different parts on one line, change the key signature in the middle of working on it (if you're writing for orchestra, it provides the full score in concert pitch, then switches to the key of the instrument when you go to the specific part you want! How cool is that!). You can put in symbols, techniques, bowings, and tempo markings, or write in your own. If you aren't sure about the range of an instrument, the notes will turn red if you go out of range--although the program is very conservative, so sometimes it's really okay, you just might need a good player.
      Anyway. I could probably sing my praises for Sibelius all night. The composer or the computer program, for that matter.
      I went to the cool pet store and got food for Andante. A big, gloriously colored macaw was in today, although since there was no price, they were probably just keeping him for someone who went on vacation (they do that sometimes with birds and big reptiles). They had a chilean rosehair tarantula in, and she was cute (it's easy to tell sex in tarantulas; the females are about twice as big as the males in most species). The macaw was beautiful, though... brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows on his underside, green fading to turquoise, blue, and purple on his back. A rainbow of a bird. It never fails to amaze me, how wondrous and complicated creatures are. He and the sun conure were squawking back and forth, but the sun conure couldn't hope to compete with the macaw's sheer volume. I would like to get a parrot someday, but it will have to be sometime when I am living in a place where other people won't mind loud noises... and when I have enough time to spend with it. I love birds. I would rather have a bird than a baby. But on the other hand, I suppose I am still young. Nonetheless... eugh. Babies. Too many fluids.

  • About Me

  • Comments (5)

    • BazTBone

      11 years ago

      Hey you, how's school going?

    • Querulous

      12 years ago

      I go to Skidmore in upstate NY. Nice to meet you!

    • BazTBone

      12 years ago

      Another music major! Awesome! Where you go to school? StRose here... Yeah, don't hate me too much for that haha.

    • Querulous

      12 years ago

      Haha, thank you. So do you--in fact, that's what made me happen upon your profile. And yes, I am a music major.

    • runningcow13

      12 years ago

      I must say, you have excellent taste in movies...are you a music major I wonder?

  • Questions

    No questions have been answered yet