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Reggie exhausts me. It's like all the enthusiasm I ever had for anything is brought to the surface and I have to do everything intensely... we fixed the sinkharp and will perform with it (along with Andrew's glass-bottle-marimba and zither, and some traditional instruments, and my trash can) tomorrow at Recyclefest, one concert at 11 and another at 2. We went to U of H at 7:30 and saw their concert, lots of Italians with good ideas they killed with repetition (though the Respighi Roman Festival is always fun). The bass concertist (they did Bottecini, not the grand duo, the other one) was not bad, though he had some intonation problems. I was impressed with his articulation.

And then we came back and listened to musics he needed to hear, till his parents got here at 12, and then they talked and talked and we messed around with the piano a little... and now he's gone, and I am absolutely energyless. It's amazing. So much hysterical laughter and wide-eyed intense listening.

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Once again, whew. Though it was fun. It reminded me of Woodstock or something; Recyclefest was a bunch of people in a dumpster smushing cans and a few tables with info on how to save stuff and a Green Party promoter and a tv with documentaries running. And us, of course. We played twice, and neither concert was spectacular, but the atmosphere was comfortingly hippie. Lots of people in grungy clothes and quite a few took their shoes off (I forgot to bring mine). Reggie and I were there first, traipsing about through the school looking for places to do stuff (organization? not present). Ellis and a pianist I know were working the concessions for the auditions (there were freshman auditions during all this, too), and gave us food. We played a weird concert, Avalon showed up with all his equipment and Errollyn Wallen (British composer; she's coming to give us a workshop on Tuesday; pretty cool) and I hid in Reggie's bass case a lot. They did eventually make me sing, though. It wasn't horrible, though Avalon sure likes chaos. His mics for keyboard and his voice were a little out of our balance, I think. Oh, well. It was fun and hippie. Andrew broke his glass-bottle marimba, playing it too hard. Fun times.

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Lots of relatives suddenly arrived around 8. We went to Whataburger, spent an hour talking, came home, talked some more, and then Charlotte (Lisa's kid, drove the 12 hours from Missouri for the first time yesterday) got out her cello.

I just spent the last hour playing random duets out of her book with her. I can sight-read better than she can. She's never had lessons, but she's been playing for 6 years. I feel special. I hadn't picked up my cello in a year and a half, and I didn't ever practice before that. Yaay. And Heather (other cousin, she's getting married, I'm making her tiara, she's Marissa's sister), who also plays cello, showed me some things nobody had ever taught me that make me sound soooo much better. Proper vibrato, unflatfingeredness... yay.

I may be an evil, evil, guilt-ridden person for never practicing, but hey, at least I can get away with it.