Strange stranger in a strange land

As I was walking home from work late last night, I noticed that the lights were on in the green-house by Tucker (the building I work in). Upon closer inspection, I saw lots of little bugs crawling on the glass. Imagine my excitement after months of insect-free winter, to see hundreds of teeming miniatures swarming in front of my very eyes! Ok, you probably can’t—but anyway. I found some beetles and some mayflies that I didn’t have in my collection yet, so I was pretty stoked…but I digress.

So I am carrying my flat-tired bike, with a backpack on my shoulders, talking on the phone to Natalie, and trying to one-handedly pick the bugs off the glass and put them into an empty cinnamon Altoid box I scrounged out of my backpack—when I hear behind me: “May I enquire exactly what you are doing?”

A cute girl asks, several paces away from me, shrouded in the darkness beyond the penumbra of the nightmare glow of les serre chaude, as it were. Judging by how calculated and tactfully she asked her question, she encountered many crazy scientists in her life, and knew just how deal with them. After I explained what I was doing, we both had a good laugh.

Her: “I just saw you pawing at the glass and I thought you were either drunk or on something.”

Ok, Ed. This is a hint. Your normal behavior suggests drug-use and/or mental instability. Take it down a notch.

Picture of Whitney and I (in our horrible, tramp-stage make-up) before Dido this weekend. I think we are making Mary-Kate and Ashley faces.
 

Typical Friday thought:

Today marks the 4th time a total stranger has approached me and complemented me on my john deers.

Random woman: Excuse me, where did you get your shoes?
Me: Zappos
Random woman: That’s my favorite color.

A couple weeks ago a Salt-Lake City airport security officer literally followed me into the terminal asking questions about my shoes. She told me her bf is Irish, he loves green, blah, blah.

Some people use philanthropy to spread cheer or good-will among mankind. I rely on my beautiful footwear.

My recent experiences with the moon:

1)Bethany sang Rusalka’s song to the moon in her recital last night.

2) Listened to Wozzeck in class: Aber der Mond verrät mich…der Mon dist blutig. (See how the moon betreays me…the moon is bloody)

3)As I sat reading “The man with the blue Guitar” tonight (It is the sun that shares our works/The moon shares nothing. It is a sea), I looked out my window to see the mooning rising (as in Walt Whitmann: Lo the moon ascending, out from the east—the silvery round moon.)

4) Seeing the moon out of my window tonight reminds me of my obsession with the children's book Harold and the Purple crayon. It was one of the first things Craig and I read together when we first started dating—a year ago today.

What does all this mean?

Emo post

I have been sick most of the week, and so that kind of put me in a despondent mood. After receiving minimal assistance from Student Death, I have spent the last couple of days taking a cocktail of OTC remedies for my (debilitating) sore throat. Here’s a pathetic picture: Sitting in my room listening to Tosca over and over, reading Wonderbread and Ecstasy: The Life and Death of Joey Stefano (the first bottom to be a gay porn star, who died of AIDS/drug overdose in 1994), and popping handfuls of Mucinex, Advil, Benadryl, Claritin, Sudafed, and Robitussin like they were a Halloween kiddie-mix.

Pouty Pirate.

Now that I am feeling a little bit better (thank god), I am going to see Pierrot Lunaire tonight. (I’m sure that will help me feel more cheerful, lol.) This weekend I pretty much going to study as much as possible and try to fix my serotonin imbalance by spending as much time in the sun as possible. Wish me luck, gentle reader.

Now that I am back in Missouri, I busy again with the Baatan death march that is my life. (soundtrack=Music History CD, Stravinsky/Wagner/Debussy/Berg).

Performed in master class today that was very productive. I guess I run hot and cold with this music thing. Some days I never want to sing again, some days I can’t find enough time to practice. Isn’t that the hallmark of an artist? Flighty and Fickle. I guess it beats insanity. Or syphilis. Schumann, Wolf, Schubert…

Who's exicited for 9.5 hours of class starting this morning at 8AM? (music history, aural training, physics 2, biochem, vocal lit, 2 hour opera rehearsal, 2.5 hour physics lab)

[Nerd in back of class waves hand]

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My spring break was absolutely wonderful.

Craig and I left for Salt Lake City (crawling with ‘mos—who knew?) on Wednesday. I got to meet his friends from the Utah (pronounced be me on the trip as ooo-tay-huh) period of his life. We went to Moab to see the Arches National Park, and did a lot of hiking. We even saw Delicate Arch (after a 3.5 mile hike) at sunset. Our pictures turned out great—they really are postcard material.

We stayed at a bed and breakfast, run by an older Belgian couple. Since I talked on the phone to the wife (we nicknamed her Tsa-Tsa) earlier that week, I knew we would be in for a treat. “Vood you like zum Vaffles?”

On Friday we rented ATVs and rode them for 4 hours on a huge outdoor complex with trails for mountain bikers, dirt bikers, and four-wheelers. It was super butch.

I also went to my first gay club Friday night. It was an interesting experience. Not quite as wanton as the homosexual debauchery in QAF, but still very fun.

I also got to visit BYU and saw where Craig went to school. It would almost be worth putting up with the dress code and repressive moral standards to be able to go to school in the middle of a beautiful mountain range. I want mountains. I hate you flat Missouri.

But I love you vacation with my bf!

I just got back from Utah this evening and am too drawn to post. Gentle reader, just know that I felt like a real person for 5 days. No biochemistry, QTL, PCR, SSRs, physics, dominant 9th chords, sonata rondo form, or Schoenberg. It was GLORIOUS. Pictures and posts to follow, kittens--I promise.