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Now that I've had all of my classes at least once, I'll admit my first reaction, while I do like almost every class, is to be daunted. I knew what I was getting into when I registered for 20 hours, continued as a copyeditor, and also wanted to try for a show. However, despite the massive amounts of reading and homework my three linguistics classes and Modern-Era music history are going to pour upon me, I can already tell that it won't be more work than I did in any one semester of high school. That was busywork, too; everything I'm being asked to do this semester is interesting to me.
Historical linguistics, for example. What could be cooler than analyzing sound changes? It's nothing I've ever done before in a serious, responisbly academic way, but the evolution of language is one of my favorite subjects. The prof, a down-to-earth Australian woman named Claire Bowern, is quite engaging, and Andrea Leyton-Mange, a fellow voice major, is enrolled in the same section as me. She has a year up on me as a voice-ling double-major, so I don't even necessarily have to go it alone.
After Hist-Ling comes Aural Skills, which looks like I'll be able to legitimately refrain from attending most of the time. If you pass the quiz each Friday, the next week's activities are a snap, and Gottschalk (medium theory teacher, apparently fun ear training teacher) lets you go till the next one.
Back to the nonMusi world after Aural Skills for Linguistic Analysis, about which I am by far the most excited as yet. Dr. Robert Engelbretson is funny, obviously super-competent, and approachable (despite the fact that he's blind, which causes some differences in how class is conducted), but even more than that, he's genuinely interesting, and I would take his class even if the subject weren't the cat's pajamas, which obviously it is. My pajamas, to be precise. It's going to be a lot of work, but it's going to be interesting work, and I don't really mind. If I can lurch back into the track of that motivated, accomplished student I know I was in high school, and not fall behind and feel terrible and guilty and miserable for failing at something I love, then this will probably be my favorite class.
A break for Mon-Wed lunch, and then comes Vocal Repertoire I, taught by Nancy Bailey. This looks basically like Barnett's music history classes, except composed exclusively of songs, and divided by language rather than period. It could be dull, and Dr. Bailey's manner of speaking has rubbed some mental fur the wrong way, but if I can keep my annoyance under wraps, the subject should be interesting enough in itself.
An hour's break, and then chorale, which needs no explanation. We're doing the Faure again this year for 9/11. Ha, three rehearsals. Well, most of us have done it before. I love that piece.
Tuesday-Thursday schedules are so light as to nearly make up for the mountain of classes the rest of the time. Intro to Semantics at a respectable 9:25, taught by my beloved frog cognitive-linguistics professor of Ling 306 renown, Michel Achard. He's so enthusiastic that it's a little overwhelming, and his slightly Socratic style throws most of his class off a bit, but you can't help but get excited when he is.
Unfortunately, that excitement is drowned so far in the morass of conventionality that is Dr. Bailey (the other Dr. Bailey's husband), who teaches the history of my favorite period of music, Modern Era. Which is not so modern, really, since it starts with the end of Schubert, and heads on through the early 1900s. At least it's fantastic music. All the old glories; Stravinsky, Satie, Ravel, Mussorgsky, Webern, Strauss, Wagner, Debussy, Ives, Schoenberg, Bartok... you know. The good ones.
My once-a-week classes include a lesson and a coaching Thursday afternoon (the lesson's Friday just this once, for first week schedule-rearrangement), both of which are exciting beyond belief, since it's Mentzer, who seems to be well worth waiting two years for, and Tom, who is a minor god of my life. And then Friday is studio, which may or may not have both of them! I didn't know I had a coaching time, since I didn't sign up for one because I was reaching the limit of credit hours that you can have without asking for approval, but since it's implied I need credit for it anyway, I may have to go ask for that one more hour. Which would make 21.
Hmm, a lot, and the auditions for Into the Woods are tomorrow night and the day after. I don't even know what to sing.
That's to say nothing of the voice department reauditions, which were today. Mine came late in the afternoon after having my computer debugged by the IT staff, which, with its long wait, gave me time to worry unwisely and resolve to practice thoroughly before singing. So I made the same mistake I always do before a solo performance of any kind at Shepherd, and overdid it. It may be the nerves, or it may be some consistent flaw in my technique, but the hour of warming up and running through the Faure I decided to reaudition on fatigued me considerably, and I had no breath support or stamina whatsoever at the actual event. Tom was nothing but kind, and it's always a thrill to sing with him playing, but something about Duncan hall and the voice faculty undoes my control. So, there went that. At least I didn't crash and burn, but it's always a pain to be unremarkable when you're actually capable of decent performances, or even really good ones.
I sulked directly off to the Thresher office to do a few of the A&E articles that'd been piling up on the copy desk, and fumed there for awhile. I got them all done before it was time for HSC rehearsal, at which I fumed some more and didn't sing. Not only was the lack of correctness surrounding me frustrating, my voice was actually dead tired, and even a bit sore. It still is. And my back hurts.
My afternoon was soured, but things will be better tomorrow. I hope Dan gets over this funk he's come back to school with, and not entirely for altruistic reasons. His being angry... makes me sad, and I hate being sad.
Stephan's house, on the other hand, is being quite the retreat. I spent last night there after being shown amazing musics late into the night, too late to bike home happily. I surprised the other two in the morning, apparently, by being on the couch when they went for their respective runs. Well, they'll probably get used to it. And I can bike home easily enough in the morning, in time for a shower and such necessities before class.
Tonight, though, I flop fully exhausted into my bed, in the hopes that this semester isn't going to be as much of a threat to my lazy nature as it looks. It's all fun stuff, so I should be able to get it all done without much suffering. This is the life, man. The busy one.
Historical linguistics, for example. What could be cooler than analyzing sound changes? It's nothing I've ever done before in a serious, responisbly academic way, but the evolution of language is one of my favorite subjects. The prof, a down-to-earth Australian woman named Claire Bowern, is quite engaging, and Andrea Leyton-Mange, a fellow voice major, is enrolled in the same section as me. She has a year up on me as a voice-ling double-major, so I don't even necessarily have to go it alone.
After Hist-Ling comes Aural Skills, which looks like I'll be able to legitimately refrain from attending most of the time. If you pass the quiz each Friday, the next week's activities are a snap, and Gottschalk (medium theory teacher, apparently fun ear training teacher) lets you go till the next one.
Back to the nonMusi world after Aural Skills for Linguistic Analysis, about which I am by far the most excited as yet. Dr. Robert Engelbretson is funny, obviously super-competent, and approachable (despite the fact that he's blind, which causes some differences in how class is conducted), but even more than that, he's genuinely interesting, and I would take his class even if the subject weren't the cat's pajamas, which obviously it is. My pajamas, to be precise. It's going to be a lot of work, but it's going to be interesting work, and I don't really mind. If I can lurch back into the track of that motivated, accomplished student I know I was in high school, and not fall behind and feel terrible and guilty and miserable for failing at something I love, then this will probably be my favorite class.
A break for Mon-Wed lunch, and then comes Vocal Repertoire I, taught by Nancy Bailey. This looks basically like Barnett's music history classes, except composed exclusively of songs, and divided by language rather than period. It could be dull, and Dr. Bailey's manner of speaking has rubbed some mental fur the wrong way, but if I can keep my annoyance under wraps, the subject should be interesting enough in itself.
An hour's break, and then chorale, which needs no explanation. We're doing the Faure again this year for 9/11. Ha, three rehearsals. Well, most of us have done it before. I love that piece.
Tuesday-Thursday schedules are so light as to nearly make up for the mountain of classes the rest of the time. Intro to Semantics at a respectable 9:25, taught by my beloved frog cognitive-linguistics professor of Ling 306 renown, Michel Achard. He's so enthusiastic that it's a little overwhelming, and his slightly Socratic style throws most of his class off a bit, but you can't help but get excited when he is.
Unfortunately, that excitement is drowned so far in the morass of conventionality that is Dr. Bailey (the other Dr. Bailey's husband), who teaches the history of my favorite period of music, Modern Era. Which is not so modern, really, since it starts with the end of Schubert, and heads on through the early 1900s. At least it's fantastic music. All the old glories; Stravinsky, Satie, Ravel, Mussorgsky, Webern, Strauss, Wagner, Debussy, Ives, Schoenberg, Bartok... you know. The good ones.
My once-a-week classes include a lesson and a coaching Thursday afternoon (the lesson's Friday just this once, for first week schedule-rearrangement), both of which are exciting beyond belief, since it's Mentzer, who seems to be well worth waiting two years for, and Tom, who is a minor god of my life. And then Friday is studio, which may or may not have both of them! I didn't know I had a coaching time, since I didn't sign up for one because I was reaching the limit of credit hours that you can have without asking for approval, but since it's implied I need credit for it anyway, I may have to go ask for that one more hour. Which would make 21.
Hmm, a lot, and the auditions for Into the Woods are tomorrow night and the day after. I don't even know what to sing.
That's to say nothing of the voice department reauditions, which were today. Mine came late in the afternoon after having my computer debugged by the IT staff, which, with its long wait, gave me time to worry unwisely and resolve to practice thoroughly before singing. So I made the same mistake I always do before a solo performance of any kind at Shepherd, and overdid it. It may be the nerves, or it may be some consistent flaw in my technique, but the hour of warming up and running through the Faure I decided to reaudition on fatigued me considerably, and I had no breath support or stamina whatsoever at the actual event. Tom was nothing but kind, and it's always a thrill to sing with him playing, but something about Duncan hall and the voice faculty undoes my control. So, there went that. At least I didn't crash and burn, but it's always a pain to be unremarkable when you're actually capable of decent performances, or even really good ones.
I sulked directly off to the Thresher office to do a few of the A&E articles that'd been piling up on the copy desk, and fumed there for awhile. I got them all done before it was time for HSC rehearsal, at which I fumed some more and didn't sing. Not only was the lack of correctness surrounding me frustrating, my voice was actually dead tired, and even a bit sore. It still is. And my back hurts.
My afternoon was soured, but things will be better tomorrow. I hope Dan gets over this funk he's come back to school with, and not entirely for altruistic reasons. His being angry... makes me sad, and I hate being sad.
Stephan's house, on the other hand, is being quite the retreat. I spent last night there after being shown amazing musics late into the night, too late to bike home happily. I surprised the other two in the morning, apparently, by being on the couch when they went for their respective runs. Well, they'll probably get used to it. And I can bike home easily enough in the morning, in time for a shower and such necessities before class.
Tonight, though, I flop fully exhausted into my bed, in the hopes that this semester isn't going to be as much of a threat to my lazy nature as it looks. It's all fun stuff, so I should be able to get it all done without much suffering. This is the life, man. The busy one.
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"You put the Queen on your money; you're British."
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