thought of the day, 17: ugh

Raise your hand if you hate phone tag!

busted tees

First laugh, then buy me some.

thought of the moment, 14: moving on

I realized today that I will be visiting Emerson College for an open house on the 2-year anniversary of my first day at my job.

Music Explorers, vol. VIII

So my co-leader and I entered today's session with a strategy: occupy the adults, make sure they're all really prepared, play a game with the kids as they filter in so we're not all affected by them as they sweep in, then start the lesson when everyone has arrived. We've been competing with a performance group that gathers in the park, and kids haven't been rounded up until after 7 some weeks, which just doesn't allow much work between 630 and when everyone has finally arrived.

It was a strategy we were really confident in, but I showed up at 6 to 12 kids, which of course meant we had to shift our plans. Everything worked out well, nonetheless, but it was interesting that we had planned for things to be much more difficult than they ended up being.

We started with a name game, something we'll probably stick to every week so we can all learn everyone's name. We all stood in a circle and threw a ball of yarn around, saying the name of the person who threw the ball and the name of the person then being throwing to. It was a hit, not to mention helpful.

Then, I asked how many of them knew the ABCs, Twinkle, Twinkle, and Baa, Baa Black Sheep. (Of course, the point is they're all the same song.) I was able to prove that by having half the kids sing one song while the other half sang the other. One of the kids, who hadn't quite understood the concept, was SO excited as he discovered the point. My co-leader introduced them to On Top of Ol'Smokey/Spaghetti as another example of two songs with the same melody.

They're assignment for the night was to write their own songs, to either melody. My brilliant example was (sung to the ABCs):
Hi, my name is Annie [not printing my last name here]
Last year, I was 23.
This June, I turned 24.
Next year, I'll be even more.
Hi, my name is Annie...
Last year, I was 23.

The kids were broken into groups to write their own and then performed them, like the stars they are.

A group of boys came up with this:
Old man, old man, look at you.
[Something, something, something] shoe. (Sorry, I forget)
He fell down, his teeth fell out,
Now he cannot eat his sprouts.
Old man, old man, look at you
[Something, something, something] shoe.

And one very prolific girl wrote:
On top of the TV
Is the remote.
Oh no, I can't reach it.
My back is broke...
and then 2 more verses.

Next week, we're doing a country-themed, Halloween project, where they'll have bandannas and paper hats, learn a song and line dance. Should be a hell of a time.

shifting priorities

Dear friends,

It struck me last night, while drunk on wine after a weekend full of too much smoking and some drinking and mostly playing, that I really needed to crack down on my grad school writing. I'm about 2/3 done with the Berkeley requirements but must just finish. Not to mention start/finish my UT Austin application, which is due mere weeks after the Berkeley one.

Considering that every other Wednesday is occupied with my volunteering, and Tuesdays I get home late from therapy as it is, I thought it best to try to use my time better when I'm home and get some good writing done. For as long as I can or need to.

In short, the review column is put on hold until further notice. Indefinitely, but not finally.

Thanks for your understanding.
Annie

Grace

It is nearly impossible for me to separate the music on Jeff Buckley’s album Grace from the incredibly potent experiences I had getting high in college. In fact, since then, I actually haven’t been able to listen to the CD all the way through, but it was specifically requested that I review it this week; I figured I’d be able to finally listen to it critically. I think the conclusion is I failed miserably, considering I nearly burst into tears on the subway. So this might not be a review, so much as a trip down memory lane…or something.

The fact of the matter is that Buckley’s life was way too short—he drowned when he was 30—and I’m just not convinced his posthumous success has outshone the success he might have had if he had lived a longer life, even though that’s what everyone always says about posthumous success. His voice has been described as “ethereal,” and I couldn’t think of a better word. It’s ghostly at times, strong and striking when he wails, and his falsetto rules the CD. The way it soars from one part of his range to the other is part of his remarkable talent.

Like I mentioned, these songs are kind of engrained in me and they’re honestly hard to separate as distinct from each other. In “Mojo Pin,” Buckley starts with an echoing “ooh,” whispers about how he loves her so, and then screams about his “black beauty.” It’s a stirring song to listen to while sober, let alone…um…not. In “Grace,” he eerily sings about his mortality: “Drink a bit of wine, we both might go tomorrow.” In all the times I’ve heard the album, it wasn’t until this listen that I heard the clock ticking in the background. Creepy.

“Last Goodbye” was always a particularly sentimental track in our house, if for nothing but the lyrics “Kiss me, please kiss me. Kiss me out of desire, baby, not consolation.” I can’t quite recall why that hurt us all so much, but I remember a lot of swooning. The bridge of this song is Buckley basically screaming perpetually higher until he explodes into singing. It’s pretty powerful stuff.

The covers on this album, Nina Simone’s “Lilac Wine,” Leonard Cohen’s “Hallejulah” and the hymn “Corpus Christi Carol” are, in my opinion, what make the album. (I guess it can be mentioned here that when I was introduced to this music, I had no idea what era Buckley had lived. I assumed he had been famous during the 60s.) Buckley’s version of “Lilac Wine” is sung in his ridiculous falsetto. His version of “Hallejulah,” probably his most famous track, is a revelation. It’s beautifully sung and played, so sad, and the crazy note he holds at the end never ceases to amaze me. And “Corpus Christi Carol” seriously stuns me every time because he sings so high through the whole song; he sounds like a woman, but I mean that in a good way.

On the track “So Real,” there’s a break in the song that always made us impressionable girls die a little, when Buckley growls, “I love you, but I’m afraid to love you.” That line always struck us as so a propos in those days. Ah, youth.

The track that always struck me as a buzzkill was “Eternal Life,” but listening to it now, I’m not sure why I didn’t like it then. Maybe because the hard-driving beat was a contrast to all the melancholia of the rest of the album and I was always forced out of my reverie. Or maybe it just sobered me up a little. I suppose both were equally boring to me then. I’d never even heard the strings in this song before today.

The thing is, this album is one of those that will just always vividly remind me of a certain time in my life. There’s no way around it. The other thing, though, is that this may be one of the best albums in my collection. Too bad I can’t listen to it anymore.

we all have our vices

I decided this weekend that The Dog Whisperer is to me what What Not to Wear is to my roommate.

We both want to purchase the subjects of the shows.