To Become a Person

Random blog about an eclectic man's quest to become a true person. Will range in intensity from a joke to the sincere.

[ijaytrin]

My First Kiss

I'm going to try one of these... how do you call them? Throwback Tuesdays?

 -Actually, I think it's Throwback Thursday because... and it’s also Wednesday...

Yep, Throwback Tuesday. Did you know the term originated from the great American sport of Americanized football? Its namesake is an unusual play in which the thrower finds himself cornered with nobody to throw to. He makes a gesture that signals the fastest runner to sprint as fast as he can away from the opponent's side. This catches the opponents off guard and leaves this runner open. Then the thrower throws the ball back to the runner, and in the confusion, more players can break free so that by the time the runner catches the ball, he can push forward again. It's risky, but the payoff can be great. That's why people are so proud to present their good Throwback Tuesdays.

-Ugh... You’re stalling. I bet this story is going to be a fake. 

No, no, I'm getting to it. I just have to build up some tension first. So, dear readers, when was your first kiss? Usually these days it can be as young as middle school. I remember seeing several couples running around. I was so young and innocent then, kissing never even crossed my mind. Then came high school, and there were a lot more couples around. And then came college, and I still never kissed anyone. But then... Yes, now is the time. Ready? 

Throwback Tuuuueeeesdaaaayyy! It's a beautiful arc, heading straight for player number 27. Oh no! The ball was intercepted by Honesty! Nobody's near enough to stop him. Honesty scores a touchdown! "Ha, you've never even dated anybody. Of course it follows that you've never had a first kiss."Ha Ha Ha! That may have worked a few weeks ago, Honesty, but that ball was a fake! While you were busy running with the decoy, the real ball’s already almost there!

The ball sails, and it's perfectly received by player number 27. The crowd cheers as player number 27 runs across a clean field. Action complete, let's throwback to two Tuesdays ago!

October 27th... It was another, ordinary night of play rehearsal, one week before opening night. We were trying to run through the play in one smooth motion. "Arturo, besame!" We make no movement and awkwardly stand there staring at each other, just like always."Wait, stop the script! Why haven't we fixed this yet? We're opening next week!" - The director. "Uh... I think we were still trying to come up with a good way to fake that." The director walks over and steps in my place to find a viable method. We spend about 15 minutes trying every cheesy method in the book. Hands covering the face, turning away from the audience, doing a tango kiss and having the hair cover our faces, but we had to face the facts: we are terrible actors. After the fifth unconvincing technique, finally came the gavel: "Okay that's enough. You guys just have to kiss."

"Oh... Okay." I stare at my partner Beatriz for a few seconds."Uh... How does this work exactly?"

"Just kiss her."

Another moment’s stare. "On the face, or...?"

"Just kiss her already!"

Ahhhh... Okay. It's fine, this is a normal thing. It doesn’t matter, and it’s easy. Never mind that this would be a weird and difficult thing in any other circumstance. Yes, you cannot let your team down! For the team! For society! Just... One... two...... three......... And thus history was made in the life of Ijay Trin. Kind of. And you know what? It actually didn’t matter.

This blog is PG, so I won't try to explain the sensation, especially since I'm sure most of my readers have already experience a full-blown lip crash before, but I noticed a few differences from my cartooning and sitcomming studies. First, it was not even a long kiss. That would be even more awkward. wait... “Uh, director? It says there’s a pause during the kiss for one of the melodrama songs to play. Do we have to...?”

“Ah, good point. I guess so, unless we can figure something better out before the play. Let’s ask Becca tomorrow.”

So on we went with the practice. As I was saying though, it felt different from what I expected, and that’s why I cannot completely check off kissing from my life-long goals. The kiss, though physically accurate as could be, lacked the intention behind it. Thus there was no heightening of the heart beat, no sweaty palms nor clammy fingers. No emotional payoff after four seasons of romantic buildup. In short, it was a pretend kiss, as fake as the very ball Honesty still holds in his hand as his tears continue to drop.

It’s much like hugging. Hugging can feel very different if you go up to a stranger holding a free-hugs sign than if you hug someone you care for very much. There is such a dramatic difference in fact, that most people do not hug their casual friends, but hug their romantic partners all the time. It’s simply not the worth the effort unless the emotions are involved behind the actions. Even still, you will still feel better after hugging the stranger because hugs inherently transfer good will and acceptance. Same with kissing, though perhaps with slightly different connotations. Kissing is more along the lines of expressing care and intimacy than expressing comfort. Following the levels of kissing, I only entered the 1.5th stage, kissing a friendly acquaintance. The levels develop at least exponentially, so there is still a much higher ladder for me to climb. Not that I intend to leave immediately. Maybe some day I’ll find that path and climb for the skies to feel the exhilarating rush of air as I skydive back to solid ground. Maybe not. I suppose there’s always a slim chance I become a Buddhist monk.

And what did happen in the end to the play? Becca and our director came to the rescue, realizing after a few more awful kisses that real kissing was far too awkward. She had us convert to the hand-over-face kissing, arguing that the play was a parody, and even if it looked obviously staged, that only parodied the low-budget Mexican melodramas even more. Hilariously enough, even that turned out to be surprisingly complex for my inept self.

Bump! “Ouch! Don’t move too fast, Ijay!” “Sorry...”

Both tilt head to one side. D: “Come on, Ijay, you’re not a mirror! Go to the other side.”

We kiss later in the play. “Ijay, tilt your head to other side.” “What? People tilt their heads to opposite sides depending on which way they face?” “Yeah, always away from the audience.”

“Ijay! Don’t just let your arms dangle! Grab her around the waist! And you can move a little during the kiss. Gah, why do you guys look so awkward?”

Eventually though, everything worked out just right. It was so awkward that the audience laughed every time.

Today’s song of the day is brought to you by the play and Libertad Lamarque.

[ijaytrin]

Writing Prompts

Recently, my brother told me about a subreddit where people post really interesting writing prompts and then competent writers see what they can do with it. There’s a really good one about superpowers going on right now.

I decided to try it out with my friend here, who gave me this delightfully random prompt: You find out that you have been living your whole life as a piece of beef steak jerky. You wonder how it has taken you this long to realize when you suddenly remember…

And so... Go!

It’s been a long day. You know that day your parents tell you a deep secret, and your whole life changes? I never had parents, yeah I know, cry fake tears, but I don’t care anymore. The point is, the moment I found out I was nothing but a piece of beef jerky was the most traumatizing moment in all of the books ever written.

People often told me I had rough skin, or that my deodorant smelled pretty tasty, but other than that I lived a pretty normal life. I hung out with a knock-sack group of friends and even had my own personal attempt at love back in middle school. I got pretty decent grades and one day I made it into the state college, majoring in non-profit business management. Because I’m a nice guy and just want to help out the needy.

Well one day, I was walking home a little too late at night, and that was the day I was murdered.

Or I should have been.

A killer running amok was running away from the cops with a hostage. Being the hero wannabe I am, I decided I could somehow stop him. Shows what you get for being brave: a shot in the chest. But you know how normally you’re supposed to bleed and stuff? Well for me, a piece just fell off, no blood, nothing but a hole. Which doesn’t count as anything since it’s the lack of things. Lucky for me, I didn’t even notice at the time and just thought he missed. I socked him a good one and saved the girl. I was really excited and empowered, but the girl just stared at me. The police came a moment later and when the girl explained what happened, they got me into an ambulance.

A week later, the doctors gave me the test results. My body was fundamentally different from my peers. I was made of beef jerky. It wasn’t so obvious because on the outside I look the same, but really, if anyone tried to bite me, I would taste pretty delicious. I don’t grow things back, so wounds like that bullet never heal.

It could be worse; beef jerky’s pretty tough stuff. I can fall from buildings eight stories high and brush off the dirt. I know because I tried. I saw my life flash through my eyes, and suddenly all of the strange, unexplained incidents of my childhood came rushing back to me.

Why I could never stop sucking my thumb.

Why the dogs never stopped licking me.

Why I used to talk to cows.

Why I never grew hair or bigger.

When I got out of that shock, I started to think more clearly. Maybe there was something beneficial about my condition that I could use to my advantage. Something truly unique that only I could do to help the world. And then it hit me. Firefighter. Normal people catch on fire and burn up, but not me. To me, it’s just like putting cookies into an oven. I may turn a little black, but it’s going to take pretty direct fire to take away my life.

A few years down the road and I became the best firefighter in all of the lands. I saved every victim I could, no matter the danger, and the country acknowledged me. Despite knowing what I was, kids hugged me after being saved, and I became a true hero. But eventually, the repeated stress took a toll on my body. By the time I was in my 80s, I was just a black crisp, and cells fell off constantly.

And... Time! I’m tired. Good night.

Have a backed-up song by Los Dynamite.

[ijaytrin]

Addicted to Reading

I remember taking the Hudson and Holland’s “Guide to College Success” in freshman year. Possibly one of the most opinionated classes I’ve yet taken, trying to steer you away from potential pitfalls of life stopping you from graduating and becoming lost forever...

Of course, the problems start with the very premise -- that a college education separates you from a bad life and a good life. It’s an interesting problem to tackle that has many layers of complexity. What constitutes a good life? Does having a higher paying job on average give you that? Many would argue that a non-college graduate lives a more spontaneous life that can be fulfilling in its own way. Still, I can agree that for the majority of people, college is a good investment.

One particularly heated debate after another arose when we came to the topic of addiction. Oddly, though they talked about drunken haze and drugged destruction, and even the great coffee cash drain, the book said nothing about cigarettes. We were just about to move on when I brought this up. Smoking is a conscious pet peeve of mine since I know people can’t help it, and they really do enjoy it, but medically and economically it’s completely stupid. It also smells bad. The teacher passionately cried out, “Heed not the sweet calls of your ugly friends when they pull you toward their corner and place in your palm a neatly rolled cigarette. It’s nothing but a cylinder of ash that will take over your lungs and your body, leaving nothing but a black tar gump and a swift death. This is supposed to be a smoke-free campus, they say, but look at those smokers outside the window. They don’t even try to hide it. And you don’t see them getting into trouble.” But how can you expect international students who can smoke anywhere they want to suddenly give up smoking completely? Smoking is kind of addicting, and just telling someone to stop... just isn’t going to work. As for other students, well really since smoking of campus is fine, they can just walk across the street and smoke all they want. Then, like calculus, they can slowly decrease their radius from campus until they start smudging the line, and then it doesn’t matter anymore and they can smoke whenever and wherever they want.

After talking about that, we moved on to addicting media. “Don’t stare into the angry screens of the computer, don’t gaze into its colourful flashing lights! It pretends to be your friend, but really it is leading you to your eventual mediocracy!” “Teacher, profe, what about reading? Can that be as addicting as television since --” “Noooo! Reading is your friend. Reading teaches you new, meaningful life lessons, and shapes who you are. You can never become a worse person by reading. And it’s not addicting.”

Well, mrs. teacher profe, it’s a year later and I think I have a mild addiction to reading. I don’t mean to say that if I stopped reading I would suffer withdrawal. But that doesn’t happen with t.v. either, huh. But books take up a lot of time if I don’t be careful. I’ll read them during “breaks,” but then because they are addicting, I’ll just keep reading. And reading. And bam, another book downed in a week or two. And similar to t.v., there’s more stuff to see than an entire lifetime dedicated to the medium can cover. Essentially, there’s no end to the number of books that you can read, so you can never get over your addiction. I spend several hours per week now reading, and that’s time I could really spend doing other things. My life’s better without this substance? Check.

A second sign of addiction is that you often find yourself thinking about the activity of enjoying your substance and that distracts you from the present. Example, physical addictions causing intense desire, or that desire to stop working and watch another YouTube video or Anime. Well, that happens here too. In fact, books can be really potent in their lasting effect. Some sad or profound ending keeps me going thinking about how things could have been or how things really are in my life, and I get lost in thought over it. Or maybe I remember some of the beautiful imagery or exciting moments. Then, I really want to go back to reading. Distracting thoughts? Check.

A third sign that is often used to check seriousness of a withdrawal is intensity of denial. When you ask a drug addict if they really need that extra dose, they respond “No! I can quit whenever I want! It’s not harming me and it’s not harming you, so just let me do it! Not that I need to! I just want to!” If you ask any well-read chap about whether they think their reading is addicting, you often get very passionate responses: “Reading is what keeps me sane in this twisted world!” Or “All the world needs to read more to enjoy the pleasure of it. Really, the world would be a much better place if everyone read.” Again, reading is probably not for everyone, so this claim is clearly biased by an addiction to reading.

Sum total: Reading is a real addiction. And it’s one affecting a small minority of people. People like me. People who can’t do anything to sweep themselves out of this mess except to replace it with a still more addictive stimuli. I gave up watching t.v. for this, and now I give up sleep for it. Sleep, the eternal flowing river of viscous life energy, how I miss you and your peaceful rejuvenation over the soothing croaking of frogs on a warm, summer night. How you scoff at me now for even trying to rest in your presence. But how can I expect more when I have placed confidence in other entities outside of your knowledge?

Ah, you the reader say to me. But what about the benefits of reading? Can such a thing exist as a good addiction? By reading books, do you not become cultured? Sure sure, I can quote off a passage, and sometimes I find really cool ideas that I can retransmit to great effect. And in a lot of ways, a good addiction is simply a good habit. So is reading really just a habit or an addiction? It’s one of those inside the other things. An addiction is a habit, but a habit is not an addiction. Habits can be broken and lost easily, but addiction lingers on and has lasting effects. Don’t say addictions can never be fixed, but they leave a permanent mark.

I think I’ll leave you and this rambling post behind with a nice song and a lingering question. Are comics more addicting than books because they have more exciting content or because the addition of pictures makes it more vivid? And does the speed of books being so slow make them more or less dangerous than other media? Who would win in a lethargy competition: books or video game adaptations of books? The song of the day goes out to Reading Rainbow, proving that the source of all addiction is once again, t.v.

Link to my GoodReads page. Drop me a suggestion.

[ijaytrin]

An Embarassing Secret

Well, it's 3 am and I'm having another one of those mild insomnia nights... Oh well, I'm supposed to be blogging, so I'm going to use this to my advantage. In the future though, I'm pretty sure the best thing to solve insomnia is to turn off all of your electronics and lights, and then sit cross-legged and meditate. That gets rid of all the super distracting thoughts that keep you up. There's also a form of meditation where you lie down as you normally would and focus on your body and breathing, but that usually just leads to the thoughts coming back for me.

So, one of my most embarrassing secrets... I wasn't going to tell anyone, but unfortunately this is one of those secrets that's really out in the open now that I go to a music school. You see, it's gotten so bad that every time I go to a concert now, I try to sit in the very back by myself. It's really tempting to sit with my friends, but I don't want them to find out my embarrassing secret. That I... That... I....

I fall asleep during almost every concert. It's not like I'm not enjoying the music or that I'm bored, in fact I don't really know why it happens. I guess my body decides that since I'm sitting, I might as well be sleeping. I've tried comparing all the variables to see what it is that causes me to sleep, but nothing else matters. You might think that since most concerts happen where the lights dim, so that causes my sleepiness, but I fall asleep just as readily in studio class with all the lights on. You might think it's the quiet gentleness of the music that understandably relaxes me to the point of falling asleep, but I fall asleep even in rock concerts the like of Sonic Youth and The Nationals. I'm definitely not bored, because I will fall asleep during my favorite pieces too. You would think that perhaps sitting next to people I really like will encourage me not to sleep for fear that I will embarrass myself, but unfortunately no.

I felt so bad about this whole habit because sleeping during a concert is one of the worst things you can possibly do. Imagine you are talking with a friend, and he's telling you about what's up. How he went to the store yesterday and was suddenly offered an awesome job. Then he looks over at you and you're swaying back and forth with your eyes closed before finally jerking awake. It's so disrespectful! But I can't help it! 

It became a regular enough habit that I began to fear, maybe there's something wrong with me? Or maybe I just wanted something outside of my control to blame. In any case, I decided once and for all to solve this problem the only way I know how: Google! "Fall asleep concert why?" Not a lot came up, but maybe my Google skills need work. I found one guy who said it was just some sort of sweetness of the instruments (which I already discredited), and others suggested he try to focus on the music more. My hypothesis went along the opposite, that by focusing so much on the music, I tire myself out and become sleepy. Then I came across one of the best forums. I could read that for hours. The very second guy puts: "Concerts are usually where I fall asleep the most." Yes! I found someone! I mean no! I have narcolepsy!

I have a really bad habit too, that whenever I read symptoms online, I convince myself that I have whatever they're talking about. I browsed through the forum and decided there was no doubt about it, all of my problems are just narcolepsy. "I fall asleep easily during car trips! I fall asleep in lectures all the time! Definitely slept in practice rooms, even while practicing! In the MRI machine! It all makes sense now!" [Oh dear, poor guy: "I crawled in to a parked car and was woken up by the owner who stole all my money before I really knew what was happening."] Strange, but nobody on the forum talked about the troubles of driving. In fact, most were able to stay awake while driving which is odd because... I actually fell asleep at a stoplight once, and I don't really trust myself to drive long distances alone.

I'm not really convinced that I have narcolepsy since it doesn't particularly impair me, and I never trust my self-diagnostics. What usually happens is the drowsiness acts instantly. As soon as the music starts in a concert or a lecture starts, I get hit with a wave of drowsiness, and then I must make a decision. Either I can give in to the sleep, nod off for 5-10 minutes, and then be wide awake; or, I can fight the drowsiness for as long as possible. I've tried the latter, but it's such a waste. I end up focusing so much on staying awake that I can't even focus on the music. I got through a whole concert once, swaying back and forth, desperately fighting off full sleep only to realize I hadn't enjoyed any of it. At the same time, I don't want to give in to this weakness. If I choose to fall asleep immediately every time, isn't that just incentive to my drowsiness? "Yes, I am weak. You win." I say. "Come back next time," I invite. Ugh, it's an awful dilemma.

Just at the peak of my malcontent, when I was deciding that I would have to accept my cruel fate, I found one spark of hope. I was in the practice building stretching during a break when I overheard these two guys talking. One of them with a really confident voice was telling the other, "I'm sorry. I don't know why, but I have to sleep during every concert. Only for a few minutes, then I'm awake and can appreciate the music, so don't feel offended!" Yesssssss. Yesssssss, I'm not the only one! I can be a musician and fall asleep during concerts!

Since then, I have been working on ways to at least improve my condition. I am so glad that I don't often snore. If I tilt my head just a bit down and assume a position of deep intensity, I can pass off that my eyes are just closed so I can hear better. If I fall asleep gently, I can often avoid the swaying and jerking and gently wake up during the applause. "Or you could try getting enough sleep for once." ... I should try that sometime. You guys have any other suggestions?

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going have this guy talk me to sleep.

[ijaytrin]

Gaming memories: Dance Dance Universe!

Several years ago, Thoreau finally got a dance dance revolution game for our X-Box 360, complete with the dance pad. I had never really played with one before, but I was a master at Guitar Hero, so I thought I could master this too.

Thoreau quickly became bored of the game, preferring to go off into his room and think, but Wake and I got really into it. We were both awful though, and we quickly realized it would take some time to get better. That's when we decided to go through the story mode.

I only have vague memories, but let's see... You had to go around developing a fan base or something. You had to duel other dancers and score more points. We were doing alright at first, but it got to the point where we were losing every other round, and it was really discouraging. But then, we had a brilliant plan.

Dance Dance Universe has one of those level editors, always my favorite addition to a game. You can choose any song and put in your own dance moves. I was already making devious tracks, for example stepping off of the beat, one where it goes really fast in circles, I guess with the intention to make you dizzy. Another one put two feet down on every beat, so that in essence you were hopping for the full two and a half minutes. My favorite, one where you had to hold one foot down and press the other buttons in quick succession with the other, almost like playing twister. But this time, we made the perfect song to complete the challenges. First, we sat down on our knees. Then, we took both of our hands and pounded straight sixteenth notes tremolo for the entire song. It was marvelous.

That's because in the quest mode, the challenge we had the most trouble with was the point mode. You had to get a certain number of points in the time slot, and since we were playing on beginner modes, getting enough notes means you have to be almost flawless. But, if you play in expert mode with more notes, you can finish in less than a minute. Using our sixteenth notes, even if we couldn't get the timing right and missed every other note, we would still easily advance to the next round.

Suddenly, the world became our kingdom and no dancer could stand up to our new dance craze. But as we advanced, we began to have problems again. For starters, there were the other game modes. That was easy enough to solve. I made a really simple dance and got the accuracy round.

The biggest problem, however, was our hands. The very dance that made us great was also causing us pain. Pounding sixteenth notes gets very tiring, so we kept experimenting to find the perfect hand position. Nothing worked well enough except making a fist and punching the pad with alternating hands. Gradually, the plastic matting skinned off bits of our knuckles, and after enough rounds, our hands were in too much pain to continue. We tried having both of us at the same time alternating all of our hands, but we couldn't get past this fundamental issue. I think that's why we stopped playing eventually, but I will always fondly remember one of the many times we successfully abused a level editor.

The music was not as great or at least memorable as Guitar Hero. There were only a couple of titles in there I really remember... So I guess the song of the day goes to "Take Me Out." And just for fun, here is someone really good at DDR. Apparently masters actually rely on that railing to lean against.

[ijaytrin]

Procrastination and the Realistic Future of this Blog

Should I? Or should I not?

Ah well let's try. I'm choosing now: I'm reviving this blog.

...

Okay, maybe tomorrow.

You see, I admit I have a problem with procrastination. Even fun things like this get distorted into a giant wall of fear-inducing materials. Imagine walking around in -6°F weather without gloves carrying two twenty pound bags. Immediately you are overwhelmed, but you can't stop until you walk 1.5 miles and wait outside for an additional thirty minutes. When the journey is finally over, with the memory fresh in your mind, you wonder what it would be like to do the trip again. Then you think about writing a blog and how there's so much you want to tell, but as soon as you sit down you realize you have to start waayyy back where you left off, almost a year ago now. Which feeling do you think is stronger right now?

Still the cold. But before that experience, procrastination is the next worst feeling. If I didn't have this procrastination problem, I would be so much further along with all my projects. It wouldn't take me a semester to write one piece. I would complete my homework, practice, and study. I would become involved in organizations with other people. Someday someday someday.

I'm sick of it! I don't want to waste any more time, which is why I'm going to confront my fears and try to revive this blog. I'm going to read everything the internet has to say and figure this out once and for all! Yeah! I'm going to do it! Really soon! I can feel the energy burning! Also my arms. They're tired. (Yeah, public commitment!)

As kind of a mini-update, since I will not be talking about my current experiences any time soon, here is a project that pretty much sums up everything wrong with my current work ethic. I had to make an e-portfolio, a very simply thing that took an hour. I did that, but not before making this fake, fun portfolio that I worked on for several hours. Luckily for you, I'm pretty proud of this, as it describes who I am much better than the professional version.

Today's song of the day is brought to you by Jorge Drexler. I really like this guy, and I encourage you to listen to his latest album, Bailar en la Cueva. I aspire to dance like him someday.

[ijaytrin]

Welcome! Have some food and make yourself at home.

Well, guys, it's been a while! This blog was based on WittyButter's, and I guess I copied some of his less desirable traits as well. This will just be a small update, but I will start posting soon, so expect great detail. I got accepted to colleges! Not all of them, but I'm really happy because at the beginning of this journey, I didn't even know if I could major in music.

I'd like to continue and tell you about everything, but first I have to address something. I haven't posted in almost a month. Why do I have new subscribers? And why are their pages filled with pictures of food? Are you even real people!? This must be because of that one post about eggs... Well, I don't want to assume the worst, so for now, welcome to my blog! Really, you like food more than anything? Well, I guess I can cater to that since you did choose to follow me.

Big poofy bread from Portland.

Fideo, probably my fourth solo attempt at cooking food.

Bibimbap from the campus of University of Michigan.

Really messy but delicious quesadilla thing from Northwestern.

It's Hitmonlee!

And some sort of Fajitas? from Indiana University!

Okay, I don't want you to salivate too much. Again, this is just a brief status update and welcome to my new guests. I will heh, I will be continuing hehe, I will be continuing to update this blog so that everyone HAHAHAHA April Fools!

Today's song of the day is also tailored to my new guests. Unfortunately, I already used that Apple song in a previous post. Not to worry! YouTube's always got my back. It suggested a different song based on apples which you can enjoy here (make sure you turn on English captions so you know what she's saying). You know, all things considered, the music's pretty cool. Especially when the recap starts.

[ijaytrin]

Audition #2: University of Alabama at Birmingham

This one was a lot less stressful. I only needed two pieces, no sight-reading, and I really liked the professor, Dr. Kasman. I decided to take a little bit of a risk and play my newest piece, the Chopin Scherzo, to give it some pressure experience. I was hoping he would give me some feedback to improve it, but apparently these guys are not supposed to say anything about your playing.

This was as much an audition for me as it was for them. I need to start critically evaluating these schools, and even though I may catch you off guard, I'm taking notes. We arrived around 10 and entered the building, and here is where I noticed something alarming. There was a drummer and a guy playing a marimba. That was it in the entirety of practice rooms which was also a problem because all of the doors were locked and they couldn't unlock the pianos. Upstairs two people were making professional photographs, downstairs people were listening to rock music in a practice room with the lights turned off. The building just wasn't alive like it was at my favourite schools.

But there are two reasons to consider the music school. There's Dr. Kasman, and then there's his daughter. His daughter, Sasha, entered the school last year when she could have gone anywhere because it's probably free for her and she gets to play with her dad constantly. While I may not be in too much company here as a musician, I would have someone vastly better to motivate me.

The audition was pretty smooth; it went about how I thought it would. I'm happy to report that I remembered how to do it -- to bottle up the bliss, I mean. The Beethoven  was great! The Scherzo was a little more shaky, but it was good practice. At the end they (3 professors) had an informal interview with me. They asked me a weird question: "Why do you want to come to U.A.B., other than Dr. Kasman?" But that's the only reason...

Far from done, I still had two interviews to go. First up, the Math and Science Honors college. I entered the meeting hall and wow, it was basically Wheeler magnet. Admittedly, maybe a little different atmosphere, but it was pretty close. I'm really enjoying how every one of these places give you free food. Please keep doing that.

Then I had my first interview. To whoever told me this, I don't know if it's the best advice. "Don't worry about the interview. Don't be nervous, don't try to concoct a convincing story. Just let your true self shine." I was completely honest, completely frank, and this happened. It was a really meandering interview. That's how they get you to reveal something embarrassing. They edge you with a certain flow, and you automatically gravitate toward something meaningful.

"What do you like to do beside school and music?" What, music's not good enough for you. "Well, music is a lot more than just playing. I like to listen to a lot of music and find new things. Not just classical music, either." "Really? Could you tell us about a band you've found recently?" "Sure. (Off the top of my head,) Nujabes is pretty cool. He combines jazz and hip-hop." "Interesting (she looked genuinely shocked). And how did you hear about him?" "My brother found him through an Anime. Samurai Champloo, if you've ever heard of that." They had not. "So, do you just find the music? What do you do with it?" "Mostly just listen. Sometimes I post it to a blog." (whoops, oh well. It's fine.)

"Did you hear that? He has a blog! That means he likes writing! Professor..." Oh, oh no. How did I miss that? One of them was a writing professor! "Do you write on this blog?" "yes" "Okay! Hey, give me the name so I can look it up later." It was too late. I could not lie. Luckily, I remembered a loophole. You can't find my blog with just my name. All I had to do was tell her, let the blog die for a week, and then I would be in the clear. But yeah, that was scary.

I had an interview at the general Honors college later that day. That one's probably the better fit for me anyway. I don't want to go leading a double life like I do at Wheeler. They are all about the interdisciplinary and insured me I could combine math and music somehow.

I had to wonder by the end: would I be alright at this school? The people certainly seemed colourful enough in their personalities. Clearly there were some intelligent people and one musician. I don't know, it had a really nice environment to it and now I have no idea where to put it on my list. Once this is all over, I think I will spend many sleepless nights debating.

Today's song of the day is brought to you by the fantastic duo, Sasha and Yakov Kasman. They are both incredibly amazing. We went back a week later to see them perform an all-Rachmaninoff concert, four hands, grand hall, all-Rachmaninoff for 1.5 hours. You make a convincing argument, UAB. I think this may be one of my favourite pieces now: Suite no. 1. It's filled with so many neat surprises. The third movement ("The Tears") is especially mesmerising. (the Kasmans don't have a recorded version, but you may see them playing the well-known Schubert Fantasia here.)

[ijaytrin]

My name

How strange that the name with which we are branded is not even of our own choosing. If I were given the choice now, would I choose a different name? Or did my very name nudge me to become the person who I am today? Does my name represent me better than any other name could?

My name, like that of many others, is a very strange name for me. Even though neither of my parents are Indian, they named me "Ijay," which is associated with Lord Vishnu. As far as names go, it could be much worse. Mine's short, simple, and easy to... Oh, here we run into problems.

You see, I have a slight confession to make here. I don't actually know how to pronounce my name... I know that seems terrible. It's an even greater crime than being unable to spell it, but give me a break here. I'm not Indian, and almost nobody around me is Indian.

So here's how it goes down: Whenever I meet someone new, I let them decide how to pronounce it. I tell them my name in a very soft voice, so that they just catch it, and then they make their own judgement. I tell them whatever they say is right. Most people pronounce it the same way, I guess the English way, but it is pretty funny when two people get into a conversation with me and call me something different.

Perhaps you've already made a judgment here and cannot see how else to pronounce my name. There are four different ways. The English way, the most common, is ih-jay (as in in + emphasised jay). The overly-conscious English call me eye-jay (emphasis on the eye). My parents insist that it's actually ee-jay (big emphasis on the ee). Finally, if you want to go fully correct, you would use the Indian pronunciation which I don't even know. The point is: what do I do? What is right?

In the case where I have to make a firm decision, I go with my parents. After all, they were the ones who named me. You would think they would know, wouldn't you? Then again, my mum does have a little bit of a Spanish accent which would explain turning an I into an ee. But more than that, I think Ee-jay has the best properties. It's delicate but strong, and more importantly, friends can say things like "Hey Ee-jay!" And you know, having a multi-sounding name is pretty advantageous in the poetry world. If I ever get stuck, I can just change my name sounds!

Today's song of the day is brought to you by Schobert (Show-bert). I feel bad for him, getting deferred by Schubert all the time. It doesn't help that he was born to the Baroque period where only Bach and Vivaldi reach the general audience. Here is his Concerto for Pianoforte.

[ijaytrin]

Lit Analysis 1: To Paint a Water Lily

A while ago I received a request to try analyzing some literature, so now I will honor that. I don't know that I'm really able to analyse these things right now since I don't know how to look for rhythm and stuff. What I can do is point out something strange. I have a funny problem: I tend to see something that completely isn't there, and yet people have trouble denying it. You'll see what I mean. Poem:

A green level of lily leaves  Roofs the pond's chamber and paves  The flies' furious arena: study  These, the two minds of this lady.  First observe the air's dragonfly  That eats meat, that bullets by  Or stands in space to take aim;  Others as dangerous comb the hum  Under the trees. There are battle-shouts  And death-cries everywhere hereabouts  But inaudible, so the eyes praise  To see the colours of these flies  Rainbow their arcs, spark, or settle  Cooling like beads of molten metal  Through the spectrum. Think what worse  Is the pond-bed's matter of course;  Prehistoric bedragoned times  Crawl that darkness with Latin names,  Have evolved no improvements there,  Jaws for heads, the set stare,  Ignorant of age as of hour-  Now paint the long-necked lily-flower  Which, deep in both worlds, can be still  As a painting, trembling hardly at all  Though the dragonfly alight,  Whatever horror nudge her root.

So first of all the reader must come to terms with the fact that this guy refers to the plant as a lady. It must be because of that painting (okay, I was certain there was a painting of a woman looking out into a pond with water lilies, but now I can't find it). So when he says "The two minds of this lady," he means the water lilies' two sides. There's the Above World, filled with insects that to us seem peaceful, or at least harmless. The worst dragonflies can do to you is bump into your face, but most of the time they are beautiful. Flies, when they land, look like drops of metal. When you take a magnifying glass to them then they seem scary.

As for the second half, that's where I get a little confused. I'm not used to this language, and I know it's supposed to be different somehow, but I'm not sure of the details. He's saying something like the flies above are flying around going crazy while the lilies have been sitting motionless here since prehistoric times, that would be my guess. "Ignorant of age as of hour," you know. "Still / as a painting" ha! I see you.

But then, as my brain was trying to comprehend the second half, something magical happened. I reread these lines:

Jaws for heads, the set stare... Jaws for heads. No, it couldn't be.

Crawl that darkness with Latin names. Really?

Now paint the long-necked lily-flower. Okay, that could be either, but still.

Though the dragonfly alight, / Whatever horror nudge her root.

Is he talking about a Venus Fly Trap? This is too perfect! Venus is Latin, it has a long neck and a jaw for a head, and if something nudges it, it clamps and kills the bug. Yes!

But, uh, what do I do with this? Is it meaningless despite all my effort? Ah well, I laughed pretty hard.

Today's song of the day is brought to you by a lady named Nadezhda Obukhova. Apparently she was quite the performer back in her day. She has a delicious, mellifluous voice with a very theatrical presentation. Now, listen to her sing Three Russian Romances (hehe, the second one).

[ijaytrin]

Memories of the Past 2: The time I was nearly underweight

As a kid (and even still now), I was swayed very easily by others' opinions, partly because I assumed everyone else was always right. On top of that, I was extremely competitive. I attended, again, Casa Montessori, where my grade level literally had about ten of us. The whole idea was that we were a family, and thus we would compete on everything.

One time around third grade (don't quote me on this: those years all blur together), I walked into a conversation: "Hey, how much do you weigh?" "70." "Ha! I weigh 63!" Suddenly, we were all comparing weights. This was something I thought I could win. "60." Nobody spoke up.

"50...6" Nazek came out of nowhere! I forgot how small she was! My victory was blown right out my hands, but I wasn't going to let it be that easy. Four pounds? I can lose that much. It didn't occur to me at the time that her smaller size and gender put her at a clear advantage.

I was already slim for my age, so my mother became very concerned. "Ijay, please eat some more. I'm worried that you never finish your plate." Sorry, can't do that. I have to beat a friend. Beside, I had already tricked myself into thinking I only needed to eat until I stopped feeling hunger instead of the "Full Load" feeling.

At the next doctor;s visit, they weighed and measured my height. The doctor pointed to a chart. "This is the average line, and this shaded region is the 'Safe' zone. You're right here, toward the bottom of that." Yes! Look how many people I'm beating! Even though I had only lost one pound, I still thought I could do it.

It didn't hit me until later that year when we went on a trip. We were going to somewhere in Tennessee to go rafting. We were waiting around in a log cabin, my parents filling out the paperwork. The manager had to check to see if I met the qualifications since I was the smallest. 

He put me on a scale and I remember thinking, "Come on! Lower than sixty! Come one! 58 pounds! Yes!" Then my mum looked at me sadly: "Sorry, Ijay. You can't go rafting with us. You have to weigh sixty pounds. Don't worry, we can go tubing instead."

That's when I realised that being the lightest doesn't always make you win. My parents told me we could go back next year, and I'm pretty sure that's the only reason why I began to eat more. Slowly, I moved up the doctor's graph into a safer zone. I was still skinny for my age, and I still am, but my mother's fear receded back into her mind. I considered competing with my friends for the highest weight, but I was far behind in that regard so I went back to my running.

Today's awesome song is brought to you by Corey Schutzer, who must play a very difficult piece on the contrabass.

[ijaytrin]

Memories of the Past 1: The time I was bullied?

My middle school was infamous for its students' behaviour. Rumours were always spreading: "Yo, did you see the fight yesterday after school?" No, I was on the bus. "Okay, did you see the fight in the cafeteria?" No, not while I was there. It's like I was protected by a barrier: my eyes could not see evil. It probably helped that I nearly never left the accelerated classes.

That's why heading to lunch one day I thought they were joking. "Hey, give me some of your lunch." They were not very threatening; they were not tall and menacing like Thoreau, nor did their voices carry any contempt behind them. They were pretty neutral. "Yeah, sure, but I don't have anything good today."

"Well, let me see it." One of them makes an unenthusiastic reach for my lunchbox. I hand it to him. "What do you got in here?"

"Hm... I have some fruit, some leftovers that were not very good, and some carrots." "Wow, you're right. This doesn't look very good. You can have it." They walk off. I guess they were not fans of eating healthy.

So, can someone tell me: Was I just bullied? I don't think so, but to this day I have no idea. And I still have yet to see a fight.

Today's theme is "Conflict," therefore the song of the day is a guitar duel! Brought to you by Zigeunerweisen. In case this is horrifying to you, here's the original, played by Gil Shaham.

[ijaytrin]

Anger

"Say, Ijay... Do you ever get angry?"

Ooh no, angry is bad! Haven't you ever watched TV? Whenever somebody gets angry, they're wrong. Well, unless it's an adult reprimanding his child -- then it's 50/50. But in my case, I don't see how getting angry can be at all useful. It's the scariest emotion we have: I can imagine the fear of losing control and potentially causing problems. Losing control, as we know from numerous case studies, results in losing credibility. In an equal argument, the one who remains calm to the end always wins.

But let's be clear here: you have to define what you mean by getting angry. For example, what is the line separating frustration from anger? According to a psychology blog, one random user distinguished anger as being the response to frustration.

I get frustrated all the time -- it comes with the trade of being a pianist, but I gave up giving the piano the elbow chord long ago. It couldn't be healthy storing all that frustration without action. That's why I ended up consulting this useful guide to determine whether getting angry was right for me. It sounds like I take plan #2 where I don't do anything with it, but without the passive-aggressive grunting and staring. What they suggest is to take plan #3, where I politely and calmly discuss the problem with others to come to a reasonable conclusion. No losing control. No problem. But is that really anger anymore? I thought the whole point of anger was that it comes when you can no longer control your emotion.

For the last couple of days, I observed myself more closely. When did I get frustrated? When did I get angry? What did I do? Finally, I caught one. It was right after the bad audition when I was feeling terrible because the bliss had worn off and I was back to sleep-deprived grumpiness. My parents probed just a little too deep and I snapped. It turns out I have a cool angry voice. It's low, stern, professional-sounding, and very curt. Kind of like a teacher after a student really messes up. Still, I don't like this whole angry business. I do regret that even giving away anger reduces my emotional pallet (which is pretty narrow), but someone is going to have to convince me first.

Song of the day is brought to you by Manuel de Falla. This is how I might sound if I were angry: Ritual Fire Dance. And here is a full orchestra version with a cool fire dancer. 

[ijaytrin]

Audition #1: Vanderbilt

So, I ended up not taking my own advice and got about five hours of sleep. I was left in a kind of grumpy mood where I find it hard to talk or smile. The people there seemed nice, and I wanted to talk to them, but I could not. Instead, I went to the practice room and played in mediocrity.

Eventually, my soul brother arrived so I followed him around. He was in the middle of an etude and he sounded pretty good. Just like me, you could tell it was a little shaky like he could have practiced more, but he was a good musician.

He didn't seem nervous at all and I wasn't either, so I asked him why. He put the situation perfectly: "The shock hasn't set in yet. I don't realise that this really matters." Nathan is an odd case: he is actually more of a violinist. In fact, he told me he only takes out his viola about once a week, and yet he sounds amazing. Soft skills, man.

During the piano seminar, I was nearly dozing off, so directly afterward I headed to my practice room to take a nap. I was lying on the floor for a few minutes when a girl walked in. The practice room was mine all day, but I felt bad for taking it just to sleep, so I let her have it and found a couch in the hang-out room.

It was only thirty minutes, but that was the best idea I had all day. I woke up completely rejuvenated and ready to go. Only my practice room was gone and so were all the others. Just as I was peaking into a magical dark room with both a harpsichord and a grand piano, the practice room coordinator came by. I told him the problem and he went to go kick her out, but I couldn't do that! "How about I use this room with the awesome grand piano?"

It worked! Yes, karma! The piano was amazing, and because of my new-found energy, I could smile again! And everything sounded better! "Clown Jumps" finally made sense! This feeling, it was bliss! (Read this to understand what I'm talking about.) 

The bliss had not worn off by the time I entered my audition, so I was feeling great! I sat down and they asked me with what I wanted to start. I wasn't really thinking, so I just thought, "Let's go chronologically. How about the Bach?"

That was mistake #2. I thought it wouldn't matter because they would hear everything. The Bach is one of the newer pieces, and it has never been quite stable. I was feeling great! And then it happened. Suddenly a thought flashed through my mind: "Where does my thumb go next? Is it here?" It wasn't there. I crashed. I tried to keep going, but I stuttered to a halt. I started up the engine again, but it still wasn't going. Finally, after pushing the music a few measures to the downhill, I was able to continue.

And then they heard the whole Bach! I thought they would hear everything, but they assumed I would start with my best. Luckily I still had some of that bliss bottled up, so I went into overdrive mode. My thought process went that I could prove that it was a fluke if I played the fugue perfectly, and at least nothing else bad happened. Everything else was pretty average like I was expecting. As my teacher said: "The spirit is definitely there, if not some of the notes and clarity."

I walked out pretty much thinking there was no hope. I mean, it was as if I told them "I don't practice enough to remember things." The head piano lady escorted me out and she said something really ominous. "Your parents (she was looking me in the eye) should be proud of your academics... Your biology, and chemistry..." It's okay not to say how the playing was, but when you start talking about vague academics, I was afraid she was implying something.

Nathan and I went to lunch afterward to just forget about these things. Apparently, because we are soul brothers, the same thing happened to him. If there's a tip I've learned, it's this: if someone tells you an audition went poorly, please don't try to ask him more questions about it. He will tell you if he wants to, but probably he wants to forget it. Actually, that was a pretty nice Japanese restaurant. They played stuff like Radiohead.

I have no idea how my audition really compared to others'. If they are willing to overlook that fatal flaw, then it went alright. Dr. Nies, whom I got to know during Brevard, sent me a nice follow-up email saying that I played "fearlessly" on the other pieces. I guess he liked that I was able to ignore that mistake. Yeah, now that I think about it, I pretty much stopped caring about notes after that. I figured it couldn't get any worse in that direction. I hear back from these guys in about five weeks, so we will all be on edge as I go out to audition at many more places. Lessons to take away: More sleep, sight-reading is hard, practice enough and play for people, and start with the Beethoven. Always start with the Beethoven.

Today's song of the day is brought to you by Basia Trzetrzelewska! This is pretty much how I felt after I took that nap: "Copernicus." And since she's really good, have another!

[ijaytrin]

Audition #1: The Night Before

Yep, audition number one is already here: Vanderbilt. It clocks in at number four on my highly tentative list, so I really should have given it more care. I was so focused on that concerto competition that it caught me off guard. I don't feel at all prepared -- I mean, sure, I can play the pieces, but they are not excellent quality. Well, as everyone always says, there's nothing you can do about it now.

What really worries me too is that I'm required to take a sight-reading portion. Though I have extensive practice sight-reading on cello, I have never sight-read on piano. One line versus two hands plus chords, sight-reading on piano is simply unreasonable. Since my pieces were as good as they were going to get, I decided to spend my last night practicing some sight reading. You can see the result of that here.

Song of the day is brought to you by the contemporary Ukrainian composer, Silvestrov. I'm really getting into this guy. In Autumn Serenade, he decides to compose in the style of Astor Piazzolla for the first two movements before returning to his post-romantic coda sound in the last two movements. 

[ijaytrin]

LIVE STREAM! GMS Resolution (ended)

I was really excited for this scholarship. The Gates Millennium, a free ride all the way through undergraduate. It would mean I could go to any school to which I was accepted without worrying about scholarships.

Then, my counselor made me stop and think. She had to vouch for me saying that I could apply, and that is when we found out, I am really scraping the sides here. I mean, just look at me: I'm barely Hispanic, just barely in the threshold of financial need, and I can't even think of one time that I have been treated unfairly. She told me, "You do realise this scholarship is meant for people who probably could not afford to go to college otherwise. Quite frankly, I don't see how you qualify."

The thing is, I do qualify, by their rules. I qualify for a Pell grant (if preeetty small), and I do seem to meet criteria for minority heritage. So there was a moral dilemma: should I apply and possibly kick out a guy who really needs this, or should I resign and give up dreams of a free college. That I'm not so worried about because there are other scholarships, and we could still make some of the more expensive ones work with financial aid.

I asked many people this question. My parents who could not come to a decision either way, so they left it up to me. My orchestra director, who agreed that it was a hard decision, and left it up to me. My counselor, who in the first place gave me this idea later took it back and encouraged me to apply just to "See what happens." A few friends who did not really have an opinion and left it up to me.

After a long day of thinking, I finally came to the conclusion that I really don't need it as much as others, so I am right now going to let it pass. But, since it is me, I am going to let it pass the "Ijay Way". I have 2 and a half hours until the application closes. As of now, I have not completed a single essay, but everything is done. I am going to spend the rest of the time just seeing how far I can get. Who knows? If I finish, maybe I will even turn it in to appeal to those who wanted to see it done while knowing that it won't pass. Do I really think it can be done? No. I'm optimistic, but not that hopelessly so. This is just going to be for fun.

If you want to track my progress, you may see it In Live Action here. You can also see my really weird Oberlin essay. I wrote that about an hour ago, and if that is before, you can only imagine how my essays will look in another two hours. Well, here we go!

In the meantime, today's song of the day is brought to you by my summer camp. The Brevard Concert Orchestra plays for you, Tchaikovsky's Symphony no. 5 in e minor (other movements in playlist on the right). I'm the cellist sitting next to the guy with long hair. Yes, the one who seems to be biting his lip at all moments. My soul brother is the violist with short, curly hair.

Update: 11:23 pm, I have completed about 3.5 essays and I just noticed something. I have essays written for the other areas that I could adapt. I could hypothetically submit the application and go with plan B where I lose because of essays and their consideration of financial need so that everyone wins. Still not sure what to do.

Update: 11:54 pm, I have edited the other essays. I could very well click submit right now and enter for the GMS. You have four minutes to convince me one way or another. Now's the time to decide: What kind of person will I be?

Update: 11:59, Oh wait, I don't think it matters. I told my dilemma to my orchestra teacher, and I guess he agreed with me then because he never filled out the sheet. Problem solved.

[ijaytrin]

Unfair

I don’t know if it’s because my mind censors things or because I’m wearing particularly red glasses, but I’m having a lot of trouble answering this prompt: “Describe a situation in which you felt that you or others were treated unfairly… Why did it happen? Did you respond and improve the situation?” I always feared that my life would catch up with me. You see, I’ve pretty much had an uneventful life thus far. No signs of storms anywhere.

Take for example my schooling. I attended the very diverse and loving Casa Montessori through sixth grade. I didn’t even know the meaning of race until seventh grade, when my best friend for years was interviewed for being biracial. I didn’t notice before then. I definitely did not witness any racial prejudice.

At home, everything was just fine too. There were arguments as there always are, but they never escalated beyond shouting and closing doors, unless you include spanking.

So you see, I cannot think of much to fit this prompt. After a lot of thinking, I finally remembered something, but it has flaws.

Sometime back in elementary school, I suspect around third grade, there was an incident with another Ijay. We had become friends simply for the fact that we shared an unusual name, and we followed the regular protocols. I visited his house, he came to mine. I distinctly remember playing “Luigi’s Mansion.”

Well, because he was a grade below me, when I transferred to the next classroom, I didn’t see him for a year. During that time, I made friends with a certain Leander, who was very outspoken. He seemed to know pretty much everything, earning him the nickname “Walking Encyclopedia.” He was a good kid, but he did not have much self control.

For whatever reason, Leander took a disliking to Ijay. He would often throw insults (remember, we were in third grade, so I mean things like “Ijay’s so stupid”). The problem was, I did not knew with whom to side. I kind of liked Ijay, but at the same time, Leander was my friend now. While I never participated in the insults, I never defended him either. I was pretty sheepish as I am now, so I would say in a soft voice “He’s not that bad. You shouldn’t say that.” One time, I even said it audibly, but Leander responded “Yes, he is,” and that was the end of that.

Sadly, I stopped going to Ijay’s house and stopped talking to him for the most part. I would say “Hi,” but not much beyond that. Then one day, out of the blue, he told me “Hey Ijay, listen. I’m moving to California in one week.” I felt really bad then. Perhaps I felt that I could make amends with him at a later time, but it really hurt that he was just telling me this a week before he left!

At that point I realized I had to fix things. I invited myself to his house and we played. We played together well. We were climbing over a fence when suddenly he stopped and confronted me. “Hey Ijay, why did you stop talking to me?” I fumbled for a response, but eventually I apologised. Man that reminds me of The Kite Runner. I had made a mistake following Leander without questioning. I will never forget after my mum came to pick me up, overhearing her conversation with the other Ijay’s mum. His mum said, “It’s a shame. The Ijays were such great friends. I don’t know what happened.”

And that’s all that happened. Yes, I feel horrible about it now, but as Wake inputted, “You guys were, like, nine. I don’t think you can be held accountable for that.” I learned my morals the hard way. I saw how badly I could hurt people’s feelings. Sometimes your friends don’t get along, but you don’t have to choose. I’m going to keep digging around for stories, but do you think I could do something with this?

Today's appropriate song of the day is brought to you by Olafur Arnalds. He writes really cool music. Lost song.