"Fuck you and your snowflake ringtone."
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Posts
Since Last We Matt
11 months ago
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Joke of the Week
Lori attended a concert. She was not allowed to take pictures of the band itself, but really wanted shots of the band's members anyway.
Happy Birthday, Lori.
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Thursday, April 15, 2010
Word of the Week
Word of the Week: Testosteroni.
Pronoun: (1) when a guy gets far too full of masculine energy. His voice lower several octaves. He may punch something. If straight, this is the time when the man is most likely to knock his girlfriend up. If gay, this is most likely the time when the closest man to him is about to have a sore bum. Often accompanies excessive drinking as an after-effect.
Use: "That guy right there is getting really testosteroni. He looks like he's about to punch that other guy talking to his girlfriend."
Noun: (2) a proposed flavor of Rice-a-Roni, testosteroni would have (appropriately) been the new San Francisco treat.
Use: "Mom, can we have testosteroni for dinner tonight? I'm feeling frisky."
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Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Two guys, too hard.
But at least they bought me a shot. Which I made very clear meant nothing. Nothing at all.
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Sunday, April 11, 2010
Non-Interests
My interests swing wildly. For instance, at the moment, I enjoy psychology quite a bit - especially motivation, needs, and personality. A year or so ago, I had a deep interest in cultural sociology (which I still do). I like writing about disasters, and their effect on culture at large. If there's a disaster, I'm curious about it.
I also have an interest in politics, but that swings quite a bit. Right now, I'm curious about what's going to happen in November, but I'm also sick of all the argumentation as a result of the health care debate. Blech.
I like video games one minute; the next I enjoy playing cards. In the video game realm, I like playing strategy and role playing games, like Sim City or Civilization or Command and Conquer. But then I also like playing Scrabble, Risk, or poker. Actually, poker is something I always enjoy playing, because I'm not that bad at it. Considering I suck at math, it's a miracle I'm any good at poker.
I also like certain types of music, then I can't stand hearing a song or music for awhile. There was a period when you couldn't get me to turn the radio down, but then all of a sudden, I'd be tired of a mix and that would be it for awhile. Now I don't have a radio in my car, or a CD player, and I've been listening to the same stuff on my Blackberry for nearly a year (because I haven't gotten new music yet). Either I'm getting some new stuff on the BBerry and a radio soon, or I might shut the music down.
One moment I don't want to travel, and the next minute you can't keep me in one city. One minute I hate going out, and then the next I'm out every day of the week. One minute this; the next minute that. It's not that I'm ADD. I just enjoy a lot of things. Just roll with it.
There are a few things that I don't enjoy, though. Unfortunately, I can't say what most of them are, because they are so culturally popular that admitting I don't like them is unspeakable. People literally gasp and go "but how can you not like (insert popular thing here)?!?"
Here's a funny example, though, to give you an idea of what types of things these are: classical music. For the most part, I don't have an ear for it. Now, I live with a string player, went out with a couple of them, and so have hung out with many string players as a result. I've been to parties where its nothing but string players. They are awesome people, and really fun to hang with! They really know how to chill - and party. But they REALLLLLLY love classical music, and they love to talk about it at length, and they get a very blissful look on their face such as how one might get when practicing buddhist meditation. Very left brain. Orgasmic. Masturbatory, even. This is to be expected - they have a deep, abiding love for their craft. And it's fun to witness.
But when they turn to me and start talking to me about it, I can only try to bullshit my way through the conversation. I mostly listen, but eventually the question would be posed to me of "What instrument do you play?" It was always funny, because the assumption was that everyone played an instrument at a party, or because I was hanging out with a string player at the time, I must be a musician too. All I could respond with was "well, none at the moment, but I used to play the french horn!" The look on their face was kinda funny, like it didn't compute that I didn't play an instrument. Even more pathetic was that I had to reach back to my french horn experience from middle school to lessen the tension from the situation. But it was all I had, and if you could have seen the deflated look on their face, you'd understand. It was like someone had told them "You won a million dollars in the lottery.." and then the next minute said "...in Papua New Guinea dollars, so the exchange rate means you've only won 10.45$". Very sad.
Honestly, I actually don't remember a damn thing about the french horn, except it was huge and heavy (I was only 5'4" at the time), and I wasn't very good at it because I really wanted to play the piano. I thought the thing was gross, too; it would fill up with spit and I'd have to empty it - how disgusting is that? Nothing more disgusting than several day old spit. Also disheartening: I only ever made first chair once, because I barely knew how to read sheet music. And the one time that happened was because the other french horn player, Natasha, had the flu so she couldn't compete that week. You see, mostly, during practice and even concerts, I would just get a rough idea of what keys to push to keep from getting in trouble, but the truth is, when it was go time, I was just blowing in the thing as meekly as possible and hoping no one would notice I sucked. The one week when I was first chair, "Ode to Joy" sounded something like "Ode to Jesus Christ that french horn player must be tone deaf because he sounds like a bag of cats being slammed against the wall." I was never first chair again - even if Natasha was sick.
Fast forward to recent times. Unfortunately, much like in middle school, it soon became obvious to whatever string player or musician asking me about "my instrument" that I didn't know anything about the french horn. Further, when they would quiz me about my interest in classical music, I clearly knew even less. I sounded like a doofus. I knew it. They knew it. We all knew it. The wise ones just nodded their heads, and would say "Ahhhh." And that would be it (thankfully). ed
From here, though, instead of letting me off the hook, some seem to really see an opportunity to school me about classical music, and started to ask what I have heard and enjoyed. They even start to make a list of composers I should listen to, concerts I should attend, and how I should listen to the music to enjoy it better. It's very nice that they take the time; I think it's commendable they want to bring more people to enjoy their craft.
But I'm probably not the one they should target. I love to listen to them talk about the music, but I'm not sure I will ever turn into a classical lover no matter how hard they try. Other than Bernstein and a few new music compositions, traditional composition classical music just doesn't seem to hit my buttons. So I listen to them talk about their favorite pieces, and then as they push me a bit more to gauge my interest, I admit that instead of classical music, I mostly have an ear for pop and electronic music.
Big mistake. It's almost as if I shot their grandmother and then stepped on a newborn puppy. "Electronic music? That's not real music, just a bunch of noise spliced together. You just haven't heard the right music. Have you heard (insert composer here)? How about (insert composer here)? You have? How can you not like it? You don't know what you're talking about."
Nevermind that I found the dismissal of techno a bit offensive (I don't mind the dismissal of pop, as even I think that is useless at certain times). But at this point, I sometimes became very afraid, because the look on their face was similar to what I imagine a dingo would look like if it came across a newborn baby in the wildnerness: anxious and about to take a bite. As if the dismissal of their favorite thing - classical music - was not only an affront to them, but evidence of my failure as a human being in a sophisticated society. Like, when I'm alone at home, all I do is suck on push pops, play with the big Duplo Lego sets they give to toddlers and the slow kids, and sniff glue.
So I would try and switch the subject to something else, and that would often defuse what was otherwise a very uncomfortable situation. These die-hard's would slowly but surely come to realize that I was a lost cause for a classical education. After about a minute or two, their subtle contempt for me became obvious, as some would leave me sitting there and seek out another musician to chat with. I'd talk about art, or computers, or current events, or even just the weather, but it was pretty much a done deal. Without music to discuss, we both just sat there and stared at each other - kind of like a one-night-stand you just finished but immediately regret. Whether at a party, or at dinner, or at the bar, whomever I was chatting with would find the nearest musician, latch on for dear life, and slowly press the mental "ignore" button on me. I would stand there as a sudden third wheel to a conversation about recitals, conductors, or movements. Thank goodness musicians are heavy drinkers. I didn't mind the "ignore" button at this point. I'd just get another cocktail, and drink myself silly listen as they wiled away the night chatting about their musicians craft. It could actually be quite fun. Occasionally, I'd sip my rum and diet coke and go "uh huh" and "oh that sounds interesting" and then *hiccup*. Very fun.
But, occasionally, beyond the die-hards, there would be one or two who such take a special interest in me as the "uninitiated" that there would be an issue. My french horn story (complete with spit draining) wouldn't sadden them enough. Their contempt for electronic music wouldn't disgust them. As a lowly glue-sniffer they had stumbled upon, to some, an opportunity had presented itself to enlighten and bring me to a higher state of consciousness. No longer was I just someone with which they had little in common with, but I was also a nut to be cracked. I must be turned. I must become one with the Borg.
For instance, I had one get very aghast with me. I wasn't sure what he was up to, but he took me aside one evening and tried to really "get to know me." In reality, he had heard through the grapevine I didn't have much of an ear for classical music, and that it still hadn't changed in all the exposure to classical music I'd had recently. He just couldn't wrap his head around that. So he tried taking it upon himself to pique my interest about classical music in a conversation, which soon turned into a debate. I don't know if he really knew his audience though, because there came a point when he mistook my enjoyment of the conversation with an enthusiasm for classical music, and then offered to give me some "homework" to explore after he was gone.
Stop. Rewind. Review. Yes, homework. He really did intend to give me an actual education in classical music.
"Oh, I don't really need anymore homework, but thanks," I said. "I don't really like classical music that much." The look on his face at that point was a cross between someone who had sucked on a lemon and been punched in the gut all in the same time. I politely declined a few more times, even as he persisted that I should be open minded and let him teach me. The conversation continued, with such persistence that I started to become uncomfortable that he had been enlisted to force me into some kind of Nazi music re-education camp in order to better fit in with my roommates and the group I was sometimes running with at the time. (Little did I know this was partially true, but that's a story for another time).
Next, he tried to relate classical music to me and my interests. By taking a sudden interest in art and design (which I happen to have a passing interest in), and asking me to riff a bit about about that, I think he thought that he might open me up a bit through the excitement of mutual teaching. He pretended not to understand the concepts I would talk about, and ask me to elaborate and riff a bit about the principles and elements of art. But I didn't take the bait; if he didn't seem to understand a concept, I just let it go. Who am I to teach? If he wants a lesson, go take an art class. If he wants a short conversation, sure. But as he tried to link the tenets of classical music to the principles of design, and make very tenuous statements regarding the universality of art and music, is when I realized that he was just feigning interest in design so he could return the favor and school me in classical music. This was a persistent sucker.
Though I admired his persistence, no one should pretend to like something and sit through lessons on it when they aren't truly interested. That's the very root of resentment. So I asked him if he was truly interested in learning about design as much as teaching me about classical music. Of course, the initial answer was "yes, everyone should have a cosmopolitan interest in a variety of subjects," or some such answer. I think he even threw in the term "renaissance man" for good measure. That was cute. So I made him an offer.
With a straight face I proclaimed, "I'll gladly listen to your advice on music if you'd be willing to sit through a brief lecture on the significance of the Golden Mean to ancient Greek architecture and how it remains one of the underlying influences in design today; should only take about 45 minutes, and I have some books to share with you, and then we could discuss the principles and elements you seem interested in."
Boy, wouldn't ya know, he squirmed a bit. He said "45 minutes?"
"At least. That's if I don't use diagrams," I replied. "But I'm sure you'll find it just as fascinating as you do classical music."
"I don't think a person can get into art that deep. If you really understood music, you'd know what i mean. Music is different. Music is much deeper."
"If you really understood art, you'd know what I mean. But it's not your thing, just like classical music isn't mine. So no harm, no foul. Wanna play Wii instead?"
So, although I appreciated the sentiment, I finally made enough of a point to declin the cultural exchange (with homework!). But it was like I had shot him in the heart. He then trashed art; then trashed the rules and elements of design. "Arbitrary and capricious; music is much more difficult. You don't know how much work goes into putting a piece together and performing it. You shouldn't criticize something you don't understand."
"But I wasn't criticizing anything. If someone asks me what I think, I admit I don't have an ear for classical music. But people ask what I think, as an outsider, anyway," I said. Which I never understood why they asked what I thought, as an outsider. Often I would hear "well, I want to know what the common listener thinks of my music." So I would say something, offend them, and then walk away. Go figure; quit asking. LOL.
"Well, then, no matter what they ask, you should keep your opinion to yourself," was our persistent friend's retort.
So, obviously, we weren't going to be playing Wii. He was offended to the point of disliking me. There after, to him and many of the musicians, I was forever branded a non-classical loving glue-sniffing peon. Oh well. :) I wonder if this is how it feels when you're a member of a Woman's Book Club or something and you don't like "The Notebook." Blah.
The plus side of all this was that word got out that I truly meant it when I said that I didn't like classical music, so people did quit asking my opinion on things or trying to teach me. The negative side was that when I was introduced by a string-playing friend or musician, the full introduction was often "This is Bolton; he doesn't play an instrument; yeah, he's that guy." I kind of felt like I had a scarlet letter branded on my ass or something. At its worst, I actually pretended I was almost interested in taking up the french horn again. Almost.
So, as you can see, I believe some interests are culturally sacred. Classical music seems to be one of them. In addition to my experience as a friend to musicians, I've noticed other signs that classical music is a sacred cow. I've noticed that when someone admits that they are a classical lover, no one else in the room will admit they aren't even when asked. I've also noticed that, even beyond musicians, the common folk are expected to have a reverence for classical music even if we don't like it - especially if someone in the room does. I'm not sure what that's about, other than perhaps the idea that classical music represents a seemingly rarefied interest that also signifies intelligence and sophistication that we should all aspire to. That's probably very intimidating for some people, but I am probably a little too dense to know that I'm supposed to be intimidated. I'm not very good at picking up on social cues like that. Oops.
So it is this way with many things. I'm sure you can name a few things. For instance, old people. Although I don't have a problem with them, quite a few people out there don't like old people. Though you may not hear them say anything about it, they just aren't fans of the geriatric set. Or warm weather. More than a few people really aren't into warm weather, but if you heard them admit to that, they would be tarred and feathered socially by a group of people who you would otherwise think were fanatic Mayan sun worshippers. Again, I'm not one for scorching hot weather, but I'm not included in that set, either.
So, the other things I don't have an interest in, I mostly keep to myself just to make things easier. But you'd be surprised at what they are. In fact, I'd dare you to take a guess, oh faithful-but-invisible readers. I'd like to see what you think my interests are and are not. Not that you will. :) You're not really there.
In closing, for the most part, my non-interests are actually pretty rare. Introduce me to a new thing, put me in front of the materials for it, and I usually can take to it pretty fast. I like trying new things, and I actually do have a wide range of interests as a result. And if it's something that can keep my short attention span? Bonus! But regardless, I promise that if I don't like it, I won't tell you. I just won't do it anymore, as long as you promise not to make me. Let me toddle off in the corner and drink your cocktails while you guys riff for hours about whatever your shared interest is. I promise I find it fascinating, even if I'm not involved. And if I don't find it fascinating, I'll have another cocktail. *hiccup*
But, please, whatever you do, don't assign me homework on whatever that non-interest happens to be. If you want a surefire way to make me show even less interest in a topic, that probably would be it. Besides, you'd be surprised how quickly I can whip up a lecture on the Greek Golden Mean - and you don't want to sit through that. Trust me.
-J
p.s. After reading the post, I realized that some of you might wonder "why" I would continue to hang out with string players and other types of musicians. They are actually quite awesome people to party with as I mentioned before; a real hoot. Big drinkers - like beer bongs and jello shot types. But, just to be clear, I happened to go out with a string player for a bit, and this is why I made the initial attempt. After that, I became friends with many, and there we were. Still, since they know how to party, I think they are awesome.
I also have an interest in politics, but that swings quite a bit. Right now, I'm curious about what's going to happen in November, but I'm also sick of all the argumentation as a result of the health care debate. Blech.
I like video games one minute; the next I enjoy playing cards. In the video game realm, I like playing strategy and role playing games, like Sim City or Civilization or Command and Conquer. But then I also like playing Scrabble, Risk, or poker. Actually, poker is something I always enjoy playing, because I'm not that bad at it. Considering I suck at math, it's a miracle I'm any good at poker.
I also like certain types of music, then I can't stand hearing a song or music for awhile. There was a period when you couldn't get me to turn the radio down, but then all of a sudden, I'd be tired of a mix and that would be it for awhile. Now I don't have a radio in my car, or a CD player, and I've been listening to the same stuff on my Blackberry for nearly a year (because I haven't gotten new music yet). Either I'm getting some new stuff on the BBerry and a radio soon, or I might shut the music down.
One moment I don't want to travel, and the next minute you can't keep me in one city. One minute I hate going out, and then the next I'm out every day of the week. One minute this; the next minute that. It's not that I'm ADD. I just enjoy a lot of things. Just roll with it.
There are a few things that I don't enjoy, though. Unfortunately, I can't say what most of them are, because they are so culturally popular that admitting I don't like them is unspeakable. People literally gasp and go "but how can you not like (insert popular thing here)?!?"
Here's a funny example, though, to give you an idea of what types of things these are: classical music. For the most part, I don't have an ear for it. Now, I live with a string player, went out with a couple of them, and so have hung out with many string players as a result. I've been to parties where its nothing but string players. They are awesome people, and really fun to hang with! They really know how to chill - and party. But they REALLLLLLY love classical music, and they love to talk about it at length, and they get a very blissful look on their face such as how one might get when practicing buddhist meditation. Very left brain. Orgasmic. Masturbatory, even. This is to be expected - they have a deep, abiding love for their craft. And it's fun to witness.
But when they turn to me and start talking to me about it, I can only try to bullshit my way through the conversation. I mostly listen, but eventually the question would be posed to me of "What instrument do you play?" It was always funny, because the assumption was that everyone played an instrument at a party, or because I was hanging out with a string player at the time, I must be a musician too. All I could respond with was "well, none at the moment, but I used to play the french horn!" The look on their face was kinda funny, like it didn't compute that I didn't play an instrument. Even more pathetic was that I had to reach back to my french horn experience from middle school to lessen the tension from the situation. But it was all I had, and if you could have seen the deflated look on their face, you'd understand. It was like someone had told them "You won a million dollars in the lottery.." and then the next minute said "...in Papua New Guinea dollars, so the exchange rate means you've only won 10.45$". Very sad.
Honestly, I actually don't remember a damn thing about the french horn, except it was huge and heavy (I was only 5'4" at the time), and I wasn't very good at it because I really wanted to play the piano. I thought the thing was gross, too; it would fill up with spit and I'd have to empty it - how disgusting is that? Nothing more disgusting than several day old spit. Also disheartening: I only ever made first chair once, because I barely knew how to read sheet music. And the one time that happened was because the other french horn player, Natasha, had the flu so she couldn't compete that week. You see, mostly, during practice and even concerts, I would just get a rough idea of what keys to push to keep from getting in trouble, but the truth is, when it was go time, I was just blowing in the thing as meekly as possible and hoping no one would notice I sucked. The one week when I was first chair, "Ode to Joy" sounded something like "Ode to Jesus Christ that french horn player must be tone deaf because he sounds like a bag of cats being slammed against the wall." I was never first chair again - even if Natasha was sick.
Fast forward to recent times. Unfortunately, much like in middle school, it soon became obvious to whatever string player or musician asking me about "my instrument" that I didn't know anything about the french horn. Further, when they would quiz me about my interest in classical music, I clearly knew even less. I sounded like a doofus. I knew it. They knew it. We all knew it. The wise ones just nodded their heads, and would say "Ahhhh." And that would be it (thankfully). ed
From here, though, instead of letting me off the hook, some seem to really see an opportunity to school me about classical music, and started to ask what I have heard and enjoyed. They even start to make a list of composers I should listen to, concerts I should attend, and how I should listen to the music to enjoy it better. It's very nice that they take the time; I think it's commendable they want to bring more people to enjoy their craft.
But I'm probably not the one they should target. I love to listen to them talk about the music, but I'm not sure I will ever turn into a classical lover no matter how hard they try. Other than Bernstein and a few new music compositions, traditional composition classical music just doesn't seem to hit my buttons. So I listen to them talk about their favorite pieces, and then as they push me a bit more to gauge my interest, I admit that instead of classical music, I mostly have an ear for pop and electronic music.
Big mistake. It's almost as if I shot their grandmother and then stepped on a newborn puppy. "Electronic music? That's not real music, just a bunch of noise spliced together. You just haven't heard the right music. Have you heard (insert composer here)? How about (insert composer here)? You have? How can you not like it? You don't know what you're talking about."
Nevermind that I found the dismissal of techno a bit offensive (I don't mind the dismissal of pop, as even I think that is useless at certain times). But at this point, I sometimes became very afraid, because the look on their face was similar to what I imagine a dingo would look like if it came across a newborn baby in the wildnerness: anxious and about to take a bite. As if the dismissal of their favorite thing - classical music - was not only an affront to them, but evidence of my failure as a human being in a sophisticated society. Like, when I'm alone at home, all I do is suck on push pops, play with the big Duplo Lego sets they give to toddlers and the slow kids, and sniff glue.
So I would try and switch the subject to something else, and that would often defuse what was otherwise a very uncomfortable situation. These die-hard's would slowly but surely come to realize that I was a lost cause for a classical education. After about a minute or two, their subtle contempt for me became obvious, as some would leave me sitting there and seek out another musician to chat with. I'd talk about art, or computers, or current events, or even just the weather, but it was pretty much a done deal. Without music to discuss, we both just sat there and stared at each other - kind of like a one-night-stand you just finished but immediately regret. Whether at a party, or at dinner, or at the bar, whomever I was chatting with would find the nearest musician, latch on for dear life, and slowly press the mental "ignore" button on me. I would stand there as a sudden third wheel to a conversation about recitals, conductors, or movements. Thank goodness musicians are heavy drinkers. I didn't mind the "ignore" button at this point. I'd just get another cocktail, and drink myself silly listen as they wiled away the night chatting about their musicians craft. It could actually be quite fun. Occasionally, I'd sip my rum and diet coke and go "uh huh" and "oh that sounds interesting" and then *hiccup*. Very fun.
But, occasionally, beyond the die-hards, there would be one or two who such take a special interest in me as the "uninitiated" that there would be an issue. My french horn story (complete with spit draining) wouldn't sadden them enough. Their contempt for electronic music wouldn't disgust them. As a lowly glue-sniffer they had stumbled upon, to some, an opportunity had presented itself to enlighten and bring me to a higher state of consciousness. No longer was I just someone with which they had little in common with, but I was also a nut to be cracked. I must be turned. I must become one with the Borg.
For instance, I had one get very aghast with me. I wasn't sure what he was up to, but he took me aside one evening and tried to really "get to know me." In reality, he had heard through the grapevine I didn't have much of an ear for classical music, and that it still hadn't changed in all the exposure to classical music I'd had recently. He just couldn't wrap his head around that. So he tried taking it upon himself to pique my interest about classical music in a conversation, which soon turned into a debate. I don't know if he really knew his audience though, because there came a point when he mistook my enjoyment of the conversation with an enthusiasm for classical music, and then offered to give me some "homework" to explore after he was gone.
Stop. Rewind. Review. Yes, homework. He really did intend to give me an actual education in classical music.
"Oh, I don't really need anymore homework, but thanks," I said. "I don't really like classical music that much." The look on his face at that point was a cross between someone who had sucked on a lemon and been punched in the gut all in the same time. I politely declined a few more times, even as he persisted that I should be open minded and let him teach me. The conversation continued, with such persistence that I started to become uncomfortable that he had been enlisted to force me into some kind of Nazi music re-education camp in order to better fit in with my roommates and the group I was sometimes running with at the time. (Little did I know this was partially true, but that's a story for another time).
Next, he tried to relate classical music to me and my interests. By taking a sudden interest in art and design (which I happen to have a passing interest in), and asking me to riff a bit about about that, I think he thought that he might open me up a bit through the excitement of mutual teaching. He pretended not to understand the concepts I would talk about, and ask me to elaborate and riff a bit about the principles and elements of art. But I didn't take the bait; if he didn't seem to understand a concept, I just let it go. Who am I to teach? If he wants a lesson, go take an art class. If he wants a short conversation, sure. But as he tried to link the tenets of classical music to the principles of design, and make very tenuous statements regarding the universality of art and music, is when I realized that he was just feigning interest in design so he could return the favor and school me in classical music. This was a persistent sucker.
Though I admired his persistence, no one should pretend to like something and sit through lessons on it when they aren't truly interested. That's the very root of resentment. So I asked him if he was truly interested in learning about design as much as teaching me about classical music. Of course, the initial answer was "yes, everyone should have a cosmopolitan interest in a variety of subjects," or some such answer. I think he even threw in the term "renaissance man" for good measure. That was cute. So I made him an offer.
With a straight face I proclaimed, "I'll gladly listen to your advice on music if you'd be willing to sit through a brief lecture on the significance of the Golden Mean to ancient Greek architecture and how it remains one of the underlying influences in design today; should only take about 45 minutes, and I have some books to share with you, and then we could discuss the principles and elements you seem interested in."
Boy, wouldn't ya know, he squirmed a bit. He said "45 minutes?"
"At least. That's if I don't use diagrams," I replied. "But I'm sure you'll find it just as fascinating as you do classical music."
"I don't think a person can get into art that deep. If you really understood music, you'd know what i mean. Music is different. Music is much deeper."
"If you really understood art, you'd know what I mean. But it's not your thing, just like classical music isn't mine. So no harm, no foul. Wanna play Wii instead?"
So, although I appreciated the sentiment, I finally made enough of a point to declin the cultural exchange (with homework!). But it was like I had shot him in the heart. He then trashed art; then trashed the rules and elements of design. "Arbitrary and capricious; music is much more difficult. You don't know how much work goes into putting a piece together and performing it. You shouldn't criticize something you don't understand."
"But I wasn't criticizing anything. If someone asks me what I think, I admit I don't have an ear for classical music. But people ask what I think, as an outsider, anyway," I said. Which I never understood why they asked what I thought, as an outsider. Often I would hear "well, I want to know what the common listener thinks of my music." So I would say something, offend them, and then walk away. Go figure; quit asking. LOL.
"Well, then, no matter what they ask, you should keep your opinion to yourself," was our persistent friend's retort.
So, obviously, we weren't going to be playing Wii. He was offended to the point of disliking me. There after, to him and many of the musicians, I was forever branded a non-classical loving glue-sniffing peon. Oh well. :) I wonder if this is how it feels when you're a member of a Woman's Book Club or something and you don't like "The Notebook." Blah.
The plus side of all this was that word got out that I truly meant it when I said that I didn't like classical music, so people did quit asking my opinion on things or trying to teach me. The negative side was that when I was introduced by a string-playing friend or musician, the full introduction was often "This is Bolton; he doesn't play an instrument; yeah, he's that guy." I kind of felt like I had a scarlet letter branded on my ass or something. At its worst, I actually pretended I was almost interested in taking up the french horn again. Almost.
So, as you can see, I believe some interests are culturally sacred. Classical music seems to be one of them. In addition to my experience as a friend to musicians, I've noticed other signs that classical music is a sacred cow. I've noticed that when someone admits that they are a classical lover, no one else in the room will admit they aren't even when asked. I've also noticed that, even beyond musicians, the common folk are expected to have a reverence for classical music even if we don't like it - especially if someone in the room does. I'm not sure what that's about, other than perhaps the idea that classical music represents a seemingly rarefied interest that also signifies intelligence and sophistication that we should all aspire to. That's probably very intimidating for some people, but I am probably a little too dense to know that I'm supposed to be intimidated. I'm not very good at picking up on social cues like that. Oops.
So it is this way with many things. I'm sure you can name a few things. For instance, old people. Although I don't have a problem with them, quite a few people out there don't like old people. Though you may not hear them say anything about it, they just aren't fans of the geriatric set. Or warm weather. More than a few people really aren't into warm weather, but if you heard them admit to that, they would be tarred and feathered socially by a group of people who you would otherwise think were fanatic Mayan sun worshippers. Again, I'm not one for scorching hot weather, but I'm not included in that set, either.
So, the other things I don't have an interest in, I mostly keep to myself just to make things easier. But you'd be surprised at what they are. In fact, I'd dare you to take a guess, oh faithful-but-invisible readers. I'd like to see what you think my interests are and are not. Not that you will. :) You're not really there.
In closing, for the most part, my non-interests are actually pretty rare. Introduce me to a new thing, put me in front of the materials for it, and I usually can take to it pretty fast. I like trying new things, and I actually do have a wide range of interests as a result. And if it's something that can keep my short attention span? Bonus! But regardless, I promise that if I don't like it, I won't tell you. I just won't do it anymore, as long as you promise not to make me. Let me toddle off in the corner and drink your cocktails while you guys riff for hours about whatever your shared interest is. I promise I find it fascinating, even if I'm not involved. And if I don't find it fascinating, I'll have another cocktail. *hiccup*
But, please, whatever you do, don't assign me homework on whatever that non-interest happens to be. If you want a surefire way to make me show even less interest in a topic, that probably would be it. Besides, you'd be surprised how quickly I can whip up a lecture on the Greek Golden Mean - and you don't want to sit through that. Trust me.
-J
p.s. After reading the post, I realized that some of you might wonder "why" I would continue to hang out with string players and other types of musicians. They are actually quite awesome people to party with as I mentioned before; a real hoot. Big drinkers - like beer bongs and jello shot types. But, just to be clear, I happened to go out with a string player for a bit, and this is why I made the initial attempt. After that, I became friends with many, and there we were. Still, since they know how to party, I think they are awesome.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Strive On; Take Risks; Keep Trying.
"The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."
Good night.
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."
Good night.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Peanut Butter Eggs n' such
One thing is certain though - when Jesus is risen again, we can be thankful for one of his greatest blessings: Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs.
You may not have known this about me (probably because no one is actually reading this), but I'm something of a PB eggs connoisseur. It's one of my quirks, along with a fanatic love of NFL football and playoff baseball, and the ability to recite the french alphabet from memory - though without remembering anything else from their language. Kind of odd, somewhat useless, but interesting conversation topics nonetheless.
About the PB Eggs, though, there is a philosophy to be learned. About 48 weeks out of the year, if you want peanut butter and chocolate goodness, you're stuck with the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Now, these are delicious, but not quite as good as the eggs. I'm not sure, but I feel like the peanut butter has more of a sand-like texture to it, and the chocolate isn't as soft and smooth. Plus, the shape of it is problematic: the cog like shape of the cup sometimes causes the cup to get caught in the roof of one's mouth. In general, the Cup is a fine substitute - like Skyy vodka when you really want Ketel One, or Internet porn previews when you're really in the mood for the whole movie.
The connoisseur knows the difference between the cup and the egg, however. He knows that the egg peanut butter has a creamier texture and richer taste. He also knows that the chocolate is more apt to melt on the tongue, first giving you a chocolate burst on the palate, and then a peanut butter flavor when the chocolate dissipates from under it. Further, he knows he can place the whole egg in his mouth because it molds well to the concave shape of the roof, and then smoosh it for one big burst of PB and C fun - or take small bites to savor it.
But there is the learned behavior of the egg, too. The connoisseur knows when the Peanut Butter Egg time of year is approaching. Not because of Jesus or anything, but because he notices egg package sized spaces being cleared at the supermarket. About that time of year, the mouth waters - and you start to twitch a bit. You even get tempted to buy a PB Cup - but you know the Egg is coming soon, so you wait.
Then there is the exotic egg types to enjoy. For instance, just the other day, I found out there was such a thing as a white chocolate egg. I know! Me, a PB Egg lover since I was a kid, didn't know that. I just thought it was a different package color. I tried one tonight, just to see what it was like. I'm not a fan of the white chocolate - but I have to admit, it was good!
Then there are the different sizes. There are the jumbo's - which I have always been a fan of. One downing of those suckers, and your PB pleasure centers could just blow out, with you left drooling in your own juices holding yourself up against a wall. Nevermind the two packs and the six packs. Enjoy at your own peril!
Finally, there is the rare but delicious dark chocolate egg. I have only had these a couple times. I found one (shockingly) at Halloween, and then another a few Easter's ago back in Michigan. I cannot find one in my neighborhood now. They have either sold out of them completely, or (worse) they don't make them anymore. Needless to say, along with praying for the yearly resurrection of Jeebus, I'm making requests of heaven that that not be the case.
So, I hope I've inspired you to go out and enjoy a PB Egg today. Buy one for yourself - buy one for a friend. Spread the joy. Explore the wonder that is the Peanut Butter Egg phenomenon. If you have questions, you readers (who don't exist) know how to reach me. I'm always happy to help with PB Egg questions - and info on the NFL draft, if you have those by chance.
So, on this Easter season, as Jesus rises, some of us will eat our ham dinners and rejoice. As you sink your teeth into a PB egg, be thankful we live in a world where such awesomeness is possible. Draw your friends and family a little closer around that Egg, and embrace.
Oh, and be thankful you're not eating marshmallow peeps, because those things are disgusting. Its like eating a small sugary mattress, covered in coarse sprinkles. I'd rather eat a dirt covered hairball. Blech.
Happy Easter.
- J
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