I often wonder what it means to mean when they say that they "see God" and me being the heathen child that I am wonder what I'm missing. It's not so much that I strive to see God - my sense of "rationality" tells me that if I can't physically sense it, it's just at most a perception created by necessity for understanding what we know and desire to explain it.
Even so, I've wondered why I don't perceive these things. As I understand it, everyone should perceive certain events and it's just the interpretation of those perceptions (based on our nature and nurture) that separates us. So for some time, I've been looked for those moments when I'm supposed to see the writing on the wall. Naturally when your looking for something so actively, it can be staring right at you and you will completely miss it, but I've also been sifting through significant memories and once again I'm brought back to musical moments in my life, synaesthetic moments, which seem to stand out.
Now I suppose that these moments will differ from person to person - the whole idea behind personal connections to God (which in some way seems odd to me, because while I fully support individualism and am vehemently opposed to groupthink moments, particularly in religion), seems like it inherently pulls people further away from the people around them, making God seem almost like a divisive force. It's 3am, so clearly I'm not thinking clearly, but either my logic is fuzzy, I'm a pessimist, or God as a divisive force exists and I'm going to be smitten for considering the thought.
I shall have to ponder this further and get back to this thought later on ... especially the dual-spellings of the word Synaesthesia/Synesthesia ...
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
China nostalgia ...
Naturally I procrastinate writing by writing ...
I'm working on my tour article for the Glee Club newsletter and I was listening to some old Cornell Glee Club and Chorus music and O Magnum Mysterium (the Morten Lauridsen version) came on and it's giving me some serious de ja vu from China. It's not surprising, but I figured I'd try to narrate the connection in my mind, especially after hearing Professor Emeritus James McConkey speak so eloquently about life-writing in his lecture at President Skorton's house today.
The tour to China was something particularly unreal in my mind, both because of my mental and emotional state at the time and because of the amazing experiences we had while we were there. There is really nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, quite like the performance we gave at the Shanghai Arts Center. It was by far the most acoustically beautiful place I've ever sung (and that includes Carnegie Hall) and that night was the night we made music.
It was the most beautiful music I can remember in my life - including the best of our 4 full-performances of Brahm's Requiem (my favorite major work, it was my favorite before that night too), a magical performance of O Magnum Mysterium and a couple other pieces. We also, had two impromptu performances of note at the end of warmups, which reinforce why I love music (and the Glee Club) and the ability it has to connect people.
The O Magnum performance was as I said "magical" because it came from nowhere - we learned it for Sage Chapel Vespers in December, performing it after practicing it just twice before (not very extensively either). We didn't rehearse it again until either the week before tour, or on tour and then Professor Tucker told us we would perform it in our highest-profile concert in China. I don't really know how it came together so well, but it was one of those years for music - perhaps the best year for music in my life. The year included the ACDA Eastern Division performance in Connecticut, an excellent performance of the Brahms Reqiuem in Bailey, China Tour and then the best Homecoming in my 4 years at Cornell in Fall 2008. But despite ACDA 2008 being one of my strongest and happiest memories at Cornell, the rare musical moments in Shanghai capture my imagination in the same way that the ACDA performance captured my heart.
The experience in Shanghai was further strengthened by our warmups - at the end, a couple of us requested that we sing the Biebl Ave Maria in the concert because we thought it would be incredible in that hall. Professor Tucker refused, explaining that it would be unfair to the Chorus, who don't have a comparable piece to pair with our Ave Maria (it has a long history, dating back to the Glee Club bringing Biebl's Ave Maria to America from Germany in the 1960s and popularizing the piece). As a result, he agreed to let us sing the piece in the hall after warmups and what followed was an ethereal moment. The chorus had left the stage and were watching intently (along with the rare few men who chose to rest their voices). What followed nearly put me in tears (which has happened only once in the past 15 years) - a heart-felt performance to our close friends in a hall that had no equal. In retrospect, it was not as technically excellent as our heart-wrenching performance of it just weeks before at the ACDA convention, but this was just as emotional. Perhaps it was fair warning for what was to come (in my mind), but what followed set the tone for the rest of the night - tragic, loving, beautiful, dramatic and epic. As we started to drag ourselves offstage after the Ave Maria, Steve "Willy" Welker, a senior at the time, looked to a couple others, and started singing Danny Boy - another piece we loved, but had barely practiced (learning it after Homecoming and performing it just once, at Elmira, prior to tour). What was particularly special was that this was no ordinary Danny Boy. It was arranged by Patrick Quigley, Assistant Director of the Notre Dame Glee Club, a very similar organization to our own. It was unpublished (and still is to this date, more than two years since it was arranged) and to my knowledge the only other group to perform it has been the ND Glee Club for whom it was arranged.
When Willy started singing, people stopped moving wherever they were and one by one the Glee Clubbers around the stage and eventually around the whole theatre joined in to the point where everyone was singing when we sang "and kneel and say an ave there for me" leading into the final verse. That piece has been my second favorite Irish ballad (second to the Minstrel Boy) and is one of the prettiest and saddest melodies. It has grown to mean so much more as the years go on and the words really begin to mean something tangible to me. That moment, after we finished singing - that silence (no clapping and sighing like after the Ave Maria) was even more significant. It was the calm before the storm, the moment of readiness. For the rest of the night, I was (and I'm sure others were too) in a trance, not unlike how we felt weeks before prior to ACDA when Willy warmed up the group before Professor Tucker and John even got to our hotel to see if we were awake. We were emotionally and mentally ready and it's those performances that I look back on - when every one of us knew that something significant happened. With ACDA, our performance was a barn-burner - everyone was crying and on their feet. Many of the conductors commented and sent letters and saying that it was the best choral performance they'd ever witnessed. With Shanghai, we had our relatively small audience wrapped around our fingers, but they were not the type of audience to just out of their seats with emotions - but I'd like to think that they were aware that they were being invited into an intimate, personal performance, like our warmups. The concert meant more to us because we sang it for ourselves and needed no voice of approval to tell us otherwise. It was for us and anyone else was along for the ride, a participant in our musical catharsis, because to us, it felt like no one else but our groups were there.
When the voices cascaded, building off each other's vocal and emotion support, the hall rang. And then that last "hallelujah" came, warmer than any before it, continuing until we faded to nothing.
I'm working on my tour article for the Glee Club newsletter and I was listening to some old Cornell Glee Club and Chorus music and O Magnum Mysterium (the Morten Lauridsen version) came on and it's giving me some serious de ja vu from China. It's not surprising, but I figured I'd try to narrate the connection in my mind, especially after hearing Professor Emeritus James McConkey speak so eloquently about life-writing in his lecture at President Skorton's house today.
The tour to China was something particularly unreal in my mind, both because of my mental and emotional state at the time and because of the amazing experiences we had while we were there. There is really nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, quite like the performance we gave at the Shanghai Arts Center. It was by far the most acoustically beautiful place I've ever sung (and that includes Carnegie Hall) and that night was the night we made music.
It was the most beautiful music I can remember in my life - including the best of our 4 full-performances of Brahm's Requiem (my favorite major work, it was my favorite before that night too), a magical performance of O Magnum Mysterium and a couple other pieces. We also, had two impromptu performances of note at the end of warmups, which reinforce why I love music (and the Glee Club) and the ability it has to connect people.
The O Magnum performance was as I said "magical" because it came from nowhere - we learned it for Sage Chapel Vespers in December, performing it after practicing it just twice before (not very extensively either). We didn't rehearse it again until either the week before tour, or on tour and then Professor Tucker told us we would perform it in our highest-profile concert in China. I don't really know how it came together so well, but it was one of those years for music - perhaps the best year for music in my life. The year included the ACDA Eastern Division performance in Connecticut, an excellent performance of the Brahms Reqiuem in Bailey, China Tour and then the best Homecoming in my 4 years at Cornell in Fall 2008. But despite ACDA 2008 being one of my strongest and happiest memories at Cornell, the rare musical moments in Shanghai capture my imagination in the same way that the ACDA performance captured my heart.
The experience in Shanghai was further strengthened by our warmups - at the end, a couple of us requested that we sing the Biebl Ave Maria in the concert because we thought it would be incredible in that hall. Professor Tucker refused, explaining that it would be unfair to the Chorus, who don't have a comparable piece to pair with our Ave Maria (it has a long history, dating back to the Glee Club bringing Biebl's Ave Maria to America from Germany in the 1960s and popularizing the piece). As a result, he agreed to let us sing the piece in the hall after warmups and what followed was an ethereal moment. The chorus had left the stage and were watching intently (along with the rare few men who chose to rest their voices). What followed nearly put me in tears (which has happened only once in the past 15 years) - a heart-felt performance to our close friends in a hall that had no equal. In retrospect, it was not as technically excellent as our heart-wrenching performance of it just weeks before at the ACDA convention, but this was just as emotional. Perhaps it was fair warning for what was to come (in my mind), but what followed set the tone for the rest of the night - tragic, loving, beautiful, dramatic and epic. As we started to drag ourselves offstage after the Ave Maria, Steve "Willy" Welker, a senior at the time, looked to a couple others, and started singing Danny Boy - another piece we loved, but had barely practiced (learning it after Homecoming and performing it just once, at Elmira, prior to tour). What was particularly special was that this was no ordinary Danny Boy. It was arranged by Patrick Quigley, Assistant Director of the Notre Dame Glee Club, a very similar organization to our own. It was unpublished (and still is to this date, more than two years since it was arranged) and to my knowledge the only other group to perform it has been the ND Glee Club for whom it was arranged.
When Willy started singing, people stopped moving wherever they were and one by one the Glee Clubbers around the stage and eventually around the whole theatre joined in to the point where everyone was singing when we sang "and kneel and say an ave there for me" leading into the final verse. That piece has been my second favorite Irish ballad (second to the Minstrel Boy) and is one of the prettiest and saddest melodies. It has grown to mean so much more as the years go on and the words really begin to mean something tangible to me. That moment, after we finished singing - that silence (no clapping and sighing like after the Ave Maria) was even more significant. It was the calm before the storm, the moment of readiness. For the rest of the night, I was (and I'm sure others were too) in a trance, not unlike how we felt weeks before prior to ACDA when Willy warmed up the group before Professor Tucker and John even got to our hotel to see if we were awake. We were emotionally and mentally ready and it's those performances that I look back on - when every one of us knew that something significant happened. With ACDA, our performance was a barn-burner - everyone was crying and on their feet. Many of the conductors commented and sent letters and saying that it was the best choral performance they'd ever witnessed. With Shanghai, we had our relatively small audience wrapped around our fingers, but they were not the type of audience to just out of their seats with emotions - but I'd like to think that they were aware that they were being invited into an intimate, personal performance, like our warmups. The concert meant more to us because we sang it for ourselves and needed no voice of approval to tell us otherwise. It was for us and anyone else was along for the ride, a participant in our musical catharsis, because to us, it felt like no one else but our groups were there.
When the voices cascaded, building off each other's vocal and emotion support, the hall rang. And then that last "hallelujah" came, warmer than any before it, continuing until we faded to nothing.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
More on why we write ...
In my first post, I think the message was somewhat muddled by the feverish delirium, but one of the really important things to note is that virtually every major historical figure wrote or spoke (in some way or another) to a larger audience, through articles, stories, scientific papers, books, music, etc. If you want to reach that level, you'll have to start writing eventually ...
Jingoism vs. the intellectual elite ...
The title of this post was born from some left-over thoughts on my last post, most importantly that anyone I've met who seems to be living the jaded, apathetic lifestyle and perspective that I was describing before also seem to lack any strong feelings towards the country as it is now.
It's a criticism often used by the far Right, which I find hard to combat. I love the idea of America and any bleeding-heart liberals and conservatives will, on some level, agree with that statement. However, the Generation Apathy that I described before lack the sense of wonderment that I think is essential for our humanity, but that generation also seems to lack the rabid, almost blind-faith of our country. I'm definitely someone who errs on the side of being very critical of how our country is run and while I love and appreciate what we stand for, I feel like that meaning is lost more often than anyone would like. The fine line between being critical to help improve our country and anti-American sentiments seems to be blurred because we're too young to really appreciate everything we get with America (the good and the bad) and even the strongest historians can't totally appreciate where we came from to get to this point.
[More to come ...]
It's a criticism often used by the far Right, which I find hard to combat. I love the idea of America and any bleeding-heart liberals and conservatives will, on some level, agree with that statement. However, the Generation Apathy that I described before lack the sense of wonderment that I think is essential for our humanity, but that generation also seems to lack the rabid, almost blind-faith of our country. I'm definitely someone who errs on the side of being very critical of how our country is run and while I love and appreciate what we stand for, I feel like that meaning is lost more often than anyone would like. The fine line between being critical to help improve our country and anti-American sentiments seems to be blurred because we're too young to really appreciate everything we get with America (the good and the bad) and even the strongest historians can't totally appreciate where we came from to get to this point.
[More to come ...]
Monday, November 30, 2009
Up and out ...
I always find myself distracted and at a loss of wonder, despite the natural beauty that still remains around us and I find myself disappointed. The have been moments in life that I've seen the world through rose-colored glasses, but in times like these where activity and focus take over, I find that the part of me that can't help but appreciate how amazing it is that we are alive is lost.
I long for the desire to gaze longingly at the skies. I'm utterly jaded at the thought of actual space travel, or a night-time adventure that once excited me. It's not exactly like I've experienced live so much that it bores me, but that I'm so afraid of not having something to do in my free time that I overload myself with plans and activities. At my first thought, I felt like technology and the availability of so much information was the cause, but I could be wrong. Once upon a time, people wrote letters no one was supposed to read, dreamed dreams that would never be achieved and did things because they were excited by them, not because it gave them a slight edge in life. Instead, we're left with Generation Apathy. It's not like we're not aware of our sloth-like state either. I'm sure many like myself wonder how our sense of wonder comes and goes so quickly and as a result, leaves us in mental states at the extremes of rationality and consciousness.
Some would call me a glorifier of the past and rightfully so - I'm a lover of history and someone who is fascinated by the value-added to an object just by time. Despite the fact that we've learned from history to get where we are, I somehow believe that we have lost our way. We've gained so much, so fast, that the humanity and love and wonder of the world seems to be missing. It's not blatant materialism, although that does play a role - it's our increasingly self-centered society. It's the blogging (not unlike this blog I'm writing), obsession with self-improvement (of which I'm a huge offender), the high speed of connection to people we know and don't know and the lack of effort to do all of this. We don't appreciate how much effort, patience and care it took to send love letters even 50 or 60 years ago and it's not like that's going to change.
A couple years ago, I wrote an article encouraging people to go night wandering around Cornell and appreciate the natural beauty and that sentiment should definitely be realized by as many people as possible. Here at Cornell, we are driven, obsessive people and our desires to succeed and win (because if we are "successful" we win at life, which is what every good Cornellian should want) are relentless. It is for that reason that we must try to slow down every once in a while and look at the world with a little bit of wonder. We're not going to re-create the values I romanticize from past generations, but a genuine appreciation and sense of wonder is healthy even for the most science-minded of us here. There is no formula for doing so - just practice and an appreciation for our curious position in the universe.
As someone who's both a heathen, god-less child and a scientist, I understand the awkward sentiment associated with looking at the world as a giant mudball hurtling through the universe, but even that sounds rather intriguing. The truth is that you have to not overthink the world. That's not to say that you let loose your unintelligent demons, but rather that you don't overthink the process of appreciating something. Appreciate the universe, the way the clouds part to let a couple rays of light peek through, whatever ... appreciate the seemingly simple or the devilish details behind the apparent simplicity - such as a pretty color on a bug, or the evolution of the genes coding for the pigments in the bug's exoskeleton. Both in their own rights are amazing.
Maybe I'm losing my mind and only I'm losing touch with these essential, dream-like characteristics of reality, but I can't help but feel like our generation and really everyone absorbed by our technology-crazed world is hurrying, both in our day-to-day lives and our minute-by-minute perceptions, and as a result is missing out.
I started this post because I was upset that the thought of a manned mission into space again didn't really excite me and that my kid-self would loathe me now. It's still true, but I feel reinvigorated to try and look at the world the way I did a couple years ago ... It might be an attitude-changing move that will trigger a part of yourself that you've been missing.
[Edits to be made ...]
I long for the desire to gaze longingly at the skies. I'm utterly jaded at the thought of actual space travel, or a night-time adventure that once excited me. It's not exactly like I've experienced live so much that it bores me, but that I'm so afraid of not having something to do in my free time that I overload myself with plans and activities. At my first thought, I felt like technology and the availability of so much information was the cause, but I could be wrong. Once upon a time, people wrote letters no one was supposed to read, dreamed dreams that would never be achieved and did things because they were excited by them, not because it gave them a slight edge in life. Instead, we're left with Generation Apathy. It's not like we're not aware of our sloth-like state either. I'm sure many like myself wonder how our sense of wonder comes and goes so quickly and as a result, leaves us in mental states at the extremes of rationality and consciousness.
Some would call me a glorifier of the past and rightfully so - I'm a lover of history and someone who is fascinated by the value-added to an object just by time. Despite the fact that we've learned from history to get where we are, I somehow believe that we have lost our way. We've gained so much, so fast, that the humanity and love and wonder of the world seems to be missing. It's not blatant materialism, although that does play a role - it's our increasingly self-centered society. It's the blogging (not unlike this blog I'm writing), obsession with self-improvement (of which I'm a huge offender), the high speed of connection to people we know and don't know and the lack of effort to do all of this. We don't appreciate how much effort, patience and care it took to send love letters even 50 or 60 years ago and it's not like that's going to change.
A couple years ago, I wrote an article encouraging people to go night wandering around Cornell and appreciate the natural beauty and that sentiment should definitely be realized by as many people as possible. Here at Cornell, we are driven, obsessive people and our desires to succeed and win (because if we are "successful" we win at life, which is what every good Cornellian should want) are relentless. It is for that reason that we must try to slow down every once in a while and look at the world with a little bit of wonder. We're not going to re-create the values I romanticize from past generations, but a genuine appreciation and sense of wonder is healthy even for the most science-minded of us here. There is no formula for doing so - just practice and an appreciation for our curious position in the universe.
As someone who's both a heathen, god-less child and a scientist, I understand the awkward sentiment associated with looking at the world as a giant mudball hurtling through the universe, but even that sounds rather intriguing. The truth is that you have to not overthink the world. That's not to say that you let loose your unintelligent demons, but rather that you don't overthink the process of appreciating something. Appreciate the universe, the way the clouds part to let a couple rays of light peek through, whatever ... appreciate the seemingly simple or the devilish details behind the apparent simplicity - such as a pretty color on a bug, or the evolution of the genes coding for the pigments in the bug's exoskeleton. Both in their own rights are amazing.
Maybe I'm losing my mind and only I'm losing touch with these essential, dream-like characteristics of reality, but I can't help but feel like our generation and really everyone absorbed by our technology-crazed world is hurrying, both in our day-to-day lives and our minute-by-minute perceptions, and as a result is missing out.
I started this post because I was upset that the thought of a manned mission into space again didn't really excite me and that my kid-self would loathe me now. It's still true, but I feel reinvigorated to try and look at the world the way I did a couple years ago ... It might be an attitude-changing move that will trigger a part of yourself that you've been missing.
[Edits to be made ...]
Friday, September 11, 2009
First post ...
So I must say, I have been averse to the thought of blogging for a long time now, but my curiosity got the better of me. Also, when I started getting the urge to apply for an op-ed position on the Cornell Daily Sun, I figured that it might be worthwhile to try doing some writing online in my "free time".
At the moment, I'm getting a little stir crazy because I've been stuck in my room for two days with the flu ... not sure what kind, but I'm thinking it's the mild kind since I haven't been vomiting or anything nasty like that ... just a persistent high-ish (99.5-100.5 range) fever, body aches (probably from the fever), a nasty cough and runny nose, body chills, mild headaches ... your typical flu symptoms. But I've actually been feeling stronger since yesterday evening, with your occasional fever spike, but with the whole H1N1 pandemic, anyone with flu-like symptoms is still contagious for up to 24 hours after the symptoms subside without the help of any medication ... meaning that I'm still a walking flu incubator, even if I am actually better. Moral of the story, assess your symptoms rationally and call a health-care provider before rushing into a hospital-type setting, where if you're immune system is already moderately compromised, you could catch something worse. If you have the swine flu and your symptoms are bad enough (vomiting, fever above 101, and other severe symptoms) then going to the doctor may be wise, but don't expose yourself to something unnecesarily ... that my word of wisdom to myself (and I listened! I didn't go to Gannett, I called in an they diagnosed me over the phone while I read my temperature off my thermometer ...).
It's particularly obnoxious because the Glee Club Retreat (I'm a member and the Tour Manager of the Cornell University Glee Club) starts tonight on campus and continues tomorrow when we leave at 7am for Skaneateles, NY, which means I can't go unless I leave later and go meet up with them. On one hand to some this would seem like a blessing - avoid the rehearsal time and take part in the group bonding activities - but I love the music, even in that exhausting setting and I feel a sense of responsibility (it's weird) to set a good example for all our young members so that they are excited and energized for the retreat and all of it's activities and endless hours of practice. Also, as one of the 3-4 longest tenured people in the choir and the former Historian, it's kind of my job to make sure the traditions get passed on and these kids see that there is 142 years of history to our Club that goes into everything we do. Plus I need to show them all up in Mafia. What would Glee-treat be without Mafia until 4 or 5am (keep in mind we are up at 7:30am or 8am to warmup for our concert in the church that is hosting us and letting us sleep on the floor. Retreat, for the past three years, has really been one of two or three of the best opportunities to bond with guys who are my age, who share a love of music and discover that we have more in common (usually nerdy things) than we think. For instance, we had 2 games of Settlers of Katan being played simultaneously last year. Additionally, since most of my closest friends outside of CUGC are girls, it's a great excuse to make friends with some males ... I mean, I've got to do stereotypically guy things occasionally and I'm not surprisingly a lot less awkward around guys.
We also play a game called "Who's Here?" which may be the most memorable thing. It's really a game all about honesty and comfort and is focused around finding out more about people in a group setting. The premise is that someone will pose a question or statement to the group. All the people who believe that they fit in that group step forward Into the circle and then back into the larger circle. For instance, a basic question might be: Who here considers himself to be on the liberal end of the political spectrum? In that situation, I would step forward, as would others in that "category". Before the group returns to to circle, follow-up questions can be posed to the smaller group such as: Of those people, who considers himself on the extreme left of the spectrum? It's not a great example, but the point is that more questions can be asked on any topic. One of the only rules is not to mock the game or trivialize what other people are doing or saying. The other major rule is that: What's said on retreat stays at retreat, meaning that if someone has shared something extremely personal (or even moderately personal), that is not public information. In my experience, it is an extremely effective way for the group to gain that tight-knit feeling that the best groups of friends and musicians get. It's obviously not the only thing that happens for everyone to trust each other, but it's a critical first step. It catches the attention of the Freshmen to the fact that we support each other and aren't afraid to share personal details and while this may seem like a silly, self-aggrandizing construct to some, it really works. I know I consider the other Glee Clubbers to be like brothers. A lot of it helps us sing the music because I never feel self-conscious emoting when I sing in the group. And I can say pretty confidently that many others would confirm its effectiveness.
... Hmmm, this is oddly liberating for my inner monologue ... albeit kind of wordy and bah ...
Right now, I'm actually Facebook-messaging (there's no convenient way to abbreviate it that doesn't amuse me a little too much) with a friend I made at my cousin's wedding in Mumbai, back in January '08. He's trying to break out of a shell that is difficult to leave and get into the bar culture ... frankly, I'd like to try it too ... so we decided that next time I'm in India we would take 3-4 days to visit three of the most the happening cities in India and just enjoy the random uninhibited atmosphere. Personally, it's one of those things that needs to be tried to remind myself how much fun it could be and how it's not really worth the effort as a regular habit. Hitting the bars, dancing and flirting with scantily clad women seems fun on the surface, but considering I have so much of that right here in college and don't find it all that exciting anymore, I can't imagine it being much better in some club in India where at any moment someone could start speaking in a dialect I don't know and then I'm done. But still, there is the excitement of trying new things and my new-found 21-ness has been put on the back-burner in recent weeks to focus again on school and planning the increasingly complicated Glee Club Northeast Tour.
That's another long story, but considering I haven't provided any valuable insights on life or given away the story of my next film, I'll probably stop writing in a minute. The internet is a weird place to put these stories, but at the same time, forcing myself to write is not necessarily a bad thing.
As a reminder to write more, I'll try to force myself to address the topic of writing a murder mystery, the un-Dr. Horribleness of this (for instance, I lack a Ph.D. in Horribleness), and try to explain the draws of writing to a moderately public forum. I say moderately because I'm assuming 99.9% of the site-visits will be me logging in to write about more mundane happenings and because there are millions of other bloggers and more useful things to see. But that's fine with me ... while there is a tiny part of me exhilarated at the thought of someone actually reading a blog that I wrote, most of the rest of me prefers privacy ...
At the moment, I'm getting a little stir crazy because I've been stuck in my room for two days with the flu ... not sure what kind, but I'm thinking it's the mild kind since I haven't been vomiting or anything nasty like that ... just a persistent high-ish (99.5-100.5 range) fever, body aches (probably from the fever), a nasty cough and runny nose, body chills, mild headaches ... your typical flu symptoms. But I've actually been feeling stronger since yesterday evening, with your occasional fever spike, but with the whole H1N1 pandemic, anyone with flu-like symptoms is still contagious for up to 24 hours after the symptoms subside without the help of any medication ... meaning that I'm still a walking flu incubator, even if I am actually better. Moral of the story, assess your symptoms rationally and call a health-care provider before rushing into a hospital-type setting, where if you're immune system is already moderately compromised, you could catch something worse. If you have the swine flu and your symptoms are bad enough (vomiting, fever above 101, and other severe symptoms) then going to the doctor may be wise, but don't expose yourself to something unnecesarily ... that my word of wisdom to myself (and I listened! I didn't go to Gannett, I called in an they diagnosed me over the phone while I read my temperature off my thermometer ...).
It's particularly obnoxious because the Glee Club Retreat (I'm a member and the Tour Manager of the Cornell University Glee Club) starts tonight on campus and continues tomorrow when we leave at 7am for Skaneateles, NY, which means I can't go unless I leave later and go meet up with them. On one hand to some this would seem like a blessing - avoid the rehearsal time and take part in the group bonding activities - but I love the music, even in that exhausting setting and I feel a sense of responsibility (it's weird) to set a good example for all our young members so that they are excited and energized for the retreat and all of it's activities and endless hours of practice. Also, as one of the 3-4 longest tenured people in the choir and the former Historian, it's kind of my job to make sure the traditions get passed on and these kids see that there is 142 years of history to our Club that goes into everything we do. Plus I need to show them all up in Mafia. What would Glee-treat be without Mafia until 4 or 5am (keep in mind we are up at 7:30am or 8am to warmup for our concert in the church that is hosting us and letting us sleep on the floor. Retreat, for the past three years, has really been one of two or three of the best opportunities to bond with guys who are my age, who share a love of music and discover that we have more in common (usually nerdy things) than we think. For instance, we had 2 games of Settlers of Katan being played simultaneously last year. Additionally, since most of my closest friends outside of CUGC are girls, it's a great excuse to make friends with some males ... I mean, I've got to do stereotypically guy things occasionally and I'm not surprisingly a lot less awkward around guys.
We also play a game called "Who's Here?" which may be the most memorable thing. It's really a game all about honesty and comfort and is focused around finding out more about people in a group setting. The premise is that someone will pose a question or statement to the group. All the people who believe that they fit in that group step forward Into the circle and then back into the larger circle. For instance, a basic question might be: Who here considers himself to be on the liberal end of the political spectrum? In that situation, I would step forward, as would others in that "category". Before the group returns to to circle, follow-up questions can be posed to the smaller group such as: Of those people, who considers himself on the extreme left of the spectrum? It's not a great example, but the point is that more questions can be asked on any topic. One of the only rules is not to mock the game or trivialize what other people are doing or saying. The other major rule is that: What's said on retreat stays at retreat, meaning that if someone has shared something extremely personal (or even moderately personal), that is not public information. In my experience, it is an extremely effective way for the group to gain that tight-knit feeling that the best groups of friends and musicians get. It's obviously not the only thing that happens for everyone to trust each other, but it's a critical first step. It catches the attention of the Freshmen to the fact that we support each other and aren't afraid to share personal details and while this may seem like a silly, self-aggrandizing construct to some, it really works. I know I consider the other Glee Clubbers to be like brothers. A lot of it helps us sing the music because I never feel self-conscious emoting when I sing in the group. And I can say pretty confidently that many others would confirm its effectiveness.
... Hmmm, this is oddly liberating for my inner monologue ... albeit kind of wordy and bah ...
Right now, I'm actually Facebook-messaging (there's no convenient way to abbreviate it that doesn't amuse me a little too much) with a friend I made at my cousin's wedding in Mumbai, back in January '08. He's trying to break out of a shell that is difficult to leave and get into the bar culture ... frankly, I'd like to try it too ... so we decided that next time I'm in India we would take 3-4 days to visit three of the most the happening cities in India and just enjoy the random uninhibited atmosphere. Personally, it's one of those things that needs to be tried to remind myself how much fun it could be and how it's not really worth the effort as a regular habit. Hitting the bars, dancing and flirting with scantily clad women seems fun on the surface, but considering I have so much of that right here in college and don't find it all that exciting anymore, I can't imagine it being much better in some club in India where at any moment someone could start speaking in a dialect I don't know and then I'm done. But still, there is the excitement of trying new things and my new-found 21-ness has been put on the back-burner in recent weeks to focus again on school and planning the increasingly complicated Glee Club Northeast Tour.
That's another long story, but considering I haven't provided any valuable insights on life or given away the story of my next film, I'll probably stop writing in a minute. The internet is a weird place to put these stories, but at the same time, forcing myself to write is not necessarily a bad thing.
As a reminder to write more, I'll try to force myself to address the topic of writing a murder mystery, the un-Dr. Horribleness of this (for instance, I lack a Ph.D. in Horribleness), and try to explain the draws of writing to a moderately public forum. I say moderately because I'm assuming 99.9% of the site-visits will be me logging in to write about more mundane happenings and because there are millions of other bloggers and more useful things to see. But that's fine with me ... while there is a tiny part of me exhilarated at the thought of someone actually reading a blog that I wrote, most of the rest of me prefers privacy ...
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