Well, as it turned out, I did get to go see this movie the other day. Of the drumline, Joe and David showed up, as well as some other random people from color-guard/marching band.
The film was really well done; this cannot be denied. It had striking graphics and some of the filming perspectives made it simply beautiful - and it had a cool soundtrack. It was filmed in a way that would appeal to an artsy college generation that has an appreciation for indie films - not particularly the generation of little kids that it was intended for.
Also, the beginning scenes where Max is living in the real world were extremely realistic; the loneliness of childhood strikes you as you watch him try to engage first his sister, then his mother, in his childish activities to no avail. Again, these scenes in particular are filmed in an artsy sort of way that struck me immediately, almost like they were trying to give the impression of filming a documentary, the way one scene slid into the next.
The next thing that struck me about the film was its deeper interpretation of Max's reasons for his "escape" into the land of the wild things. A pivotal scene in the movie that can almost be overlooked takes place in Max's science classroom, where the teacher matter-of-factly informs the small children about how the sun will eventually die, expand, and swallow the world as they know it. Here, I thought, "You stupid science teacher. Why did you just tell the 7-and-8-year-olds about the sun dying?" And also, I thought of all of the four-and-five-year-olds in the rows in front of me, tugging at the sleeves of their parents and asking, "Mommy, is it true that the sun is going to die?" This theme of death is repeated a few times in the movie - one of the more important moments being when Max is conversing with one of the wild things, Carol. He asks Carol, "Did you know that the sun was going to die?" to which Carol responds first with shock, before shaking his head and saying, "But you're the king, and I'm big. So why should we worry about something so little as the sun?" Which I thought was a clever way to say, "Why worry about death or the end of the world when it seems so far away?" It was a clever way to show the denial that people are in.
The other major theme of this movie was loneliness, which appeared in Max's childhood and the love dilemmna between two of the other main characters, Carol and KJ. The latter conflict is never resolved, and Max leaves the island with the arguments between the beasts still intact and - again - unresolved.
So overall, it seemed like they were trying to convey the message that once you leave childhood behind and discover the horrors of the world you were sheltered from, it only complicates things to attempt to retreat back into the shelter of childhood; you'll only find the same complications manifested there, as if they had existed all along.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Marching Band Competition Cancelled
Yes: the competition was cancelled today on account of the rain, and I am sitting in front of the computer, wet, right now with other news of importance to recount. Thankfully I didn't have to walk all the way back in the rain because I ran into Laura and her brother, who were driving to the school. I told them that the competition was cancelled, and they gave me a ride back to the house.
First of all, it's very likely that a whole bunch of marching band people will be getting together to go watch "Where the Wild Things Are" today, and I hope that I might be able to join them.
Also, being the dork that I am, I hunted down a free copy of "La Dispute" sheet music from the Internet machine (by Yann Tierson, I think), music from the movie "Amelie." I have sent this music to myself to print out at a later date, and I am super-excited about learning it.
Last night we had our football homecoming game, which was really neat. One of the girls from marching band, Kayla, was running for homecoming queen; however, she didn't win and was triumphed over by a girl named Comfort and her escort. Because of the event, we all got free food and we arrived at the stadium about an hour early for a sort of pre-game party under the sunset, which was really pretty.
Also, the xylophone's near-death experience on it's way into the stadium inspired me to think of a name for it and the vibraphone. Laura, who was helping me roll it in, and I decided that it should be christened Ol' Bessie, but the vibraphone's name was harder to determine. We decided that it should be future-esque, as the vibraphone is shiny and new, and that it should be a V-name. Laura thought that it looked male, also, and so we decided on Voltaire as a surname, with the first name of Charles. Ol' Bessie and Charles Voltaire. A lovely couple.
Unfortunately, we didn't get to play the half-time show, which sucked especially since my dad, Heather, and Hope turned out for the game. However, during the fourth quarter, Hope got to come and sit with the drumline in the top two rows of the stands.
Hope and Heather stayed the night with us, and left early this morning. I am probably going to do something constructive now like learn the first few parts of that sheet music or wake my father to ask him if we could go see "Where the Wild Things Are."
First of all, it's very likely that a whole bunch of marching band people will be getting together to go watch "Where the Wild Things Are" today, and I hope that I might be able to join them.
Also, being the dork that I am, I hunted down a free copy of "La Dispute" sheet music from the Internet machine (by Yann Tierson, I think), music from the movie "Amelie." I have sent this music to myself to print out at a later date, and I am super-excited about learning it.
Last night we had our football homecoming game, which was really neat. One of the girls from marching band, Kayla, was running for homecoming queen; however, she didn't win and was triumphed over by a girl named Comfort and her escort. Because of the event, we all got free food and we arrived at the stadium about an hour early for a sort of pre-game party under the sunset, which was really pretty.
Also, the xylophone's near-death experience on it's way into the stadium inspired me to think of a name for it and the vibraphone. Laura, who was helping me roll it in, and I decided that it should be christened Ol' Bessie, but the vibraphone's name was harder to determine. We decided that it should be future-esque, as the vibraphone is shiny and new, and that it should be a V-name. Laura thought that it looked male, also, and so we decided on Voltaire as a surname, with the first name of Charles. Ol' Bessie and Charles Voltaire. A lovely couple.
Unfortunately, we didn't get to play the half-time show, which sucked especially since my dad, Heather, and Hope turned out for the game. However, during the fourth quarter, Hope got to come and sit with the drumline in the top two rows of the stands.
Hope and Heather stayed the night with us, and left early this morning. I am probably going to do something constructive now like learn the first few parts of that sheet music or wake my father to ask him if we could go see "Where the Wild Things Are."
Monday, October 19, 2009
Appalachian State Marching Band Competition 10/17
Yes, on Saturday, the marching band took a trip up to Boone for a marching band competition, where we would be competing as a size 1A band, that being the smallest size. It was a pretty amazing trip, hence my documenting of it. I had just played the half-time show live for the first time at the home-vs.-tabor game the night before; my mom and dad showed up in the beginning of "Big Noise From Winnetka," and my dad reportedly was shouting "That's my baby on the bells!" the whole time. When he wondered aloud last night in the car why people had been staring at him when he was yelling this, I informed him that it was likely because I was playing a vibraphone and not a glockenspiel/bell kit. But anyways, we arrived at school the next day at 8:30 in the morning to run through the show. I was sort of irritated that morning from being tired and from the feeling that I was in the way wherever I went. There were two different buses: one for the color guard and people who wanted to stay awake and talk, and another one for people who wanted to try to get some sleep; that is the bus I chose, as did most of the drum line, and it was driven by Mr. James. I took a seat behind Laura and across from Izzie and slept for about an hour or so; when I woke up, I looked out of the window and the autumn mountain scenery was beautiful to behold. The leaves that enveloped the rising slopes of the mountains that surrounded us were yellow and swirling down from greater heights. On either side of the highway were forests unbroken but for fields of lethargic cows.
Once we arrived at the school, we took a step outside of the bus and collectively shivered. The wind chill made the 39 degrees seem ten degrees cooler, and I pulled my earmuffs from my purse as we headed in the direction of the bathrooms. On the way back, someone from the drum line (Vipul, I think) shouted, "It's snowing!" And snowing it was, though barely. Imperceptible flakes fell through the air, occasionally revealing themselves in the light. We had been prepared for the possibility of snow, but it was still really cold.
Once we had retrieved our uniforms and instruments, most of the band left to warm up (not literally, of course) in some warm-up area; Izzie and I stayed behind with the pit equipment, which was being loaded onto trailers by strong men. We followed the trailers onto the field and set up for the small audience that sat in the stands, on either side of the 50 yard line, Izzie with her timpani and me with my vibraphone and xylophone. Mr. James showed up a few minutes before Banks with the band behind him. After Banks saluted to the people in the press box to indicate that "his band was ready," Mr. James yelled from his bench, "Yay band!" really loudly. It was pretty awesome. Then we played "Sing, Sing, Sing," "Novus," and "Big Noise from Winnetka." My fingers were nearly frozen by the end of it, but something about them being frozen seemed to make playing with the mallets easier.
After performing for the judges, we all walked back to the bus, where we loaded our instruments and uniforms back onto the trailer. I grabbed my gloves from the bus and followed Ms. Reese and some other students back to the stadium where we would be watching some of the other 1a and 2a bands perform. We sat in the stands shivering for a while, me feeling colder than I could remember feeling, before I followed a group of girls to the bathroom, where we basked in the warmth until we were forced to go back out for the next band. While in the bathroom, Virginia and Laura told me about the competition last year, held in a different place; apparently it had been even colder, and the girls had taken refuge in the small, not-nearly-as-luxurious-as-Appalachian's-bathroom bathroom. After listening to this story, I walked back to my place in the stands, determined not to show that I was cold; I failed. Thankfully, not long after that, it was announced that we could go back to the bus for lunch at 3:45; we were bused over to Cici's Pizza, and we sat with our pizza, hoping that we could stay in the warmth for as long as possible. Mr James ushered us out when he estimated that the biggest bands, size 4a, would be starting to perform.
Back up in the stands, one level up from our previous location, I sat on the outside; we were all squeezed together for the most warmth, and Izzie let me use half of her blanket. Then, my left side was cold, and so I asked if I could trade seats with her; she finally agreed when I told her that she could use the whole blanket. And then I was not warm, but I was one of the happiest cold people there.
Throughout the bands' performances, I sat between Vipul and Izzie/Mitch/Izzie again as people came and went. Mr. James came through a few times, sitting in the seat in front of us. The snow also was capricious, sometimes coming down in near-flurries and sometimes not being present at all. There was always a bitter chill that made my very bones rattle as I sat, trying to warm myself under the corner of Virginia's blanket that I could pull over my right leg. Between performances, we had random discussions, one being of importance: we were talking about the songs that we had stuck in our head, and when I sang "Baby It's Cold Outside," I was informed by Virginia and Vipul that I have "a beautiful singing voice." I'm used to my dad laughing and saying, "That sounds like you're dying, Robyn," when I sing, and so that boosted my ego about 10 points or so if one can measure ego in points.
When Mitch was on my left, we were discussing half birthdays; he was saying how one of his friends had texted him, wishing him a happy half birthday when he didn't even realize its existence; I said, "Mine's in September." Vipul said his was on the fourth, and I was like, "No way, so's mine." and so I had discovered another March 4th birthday; Mitch's birthday was February 26th, I think, and so that made three Pisces people in the same place at the same time, and that is fairly fantabulous if you ask me.
So at the end, the seniors, Mr. James, and Banks went down for the awards ceremony, and we all stood up from our spots and stumbled down the stairs on numb feet for a better look over the railing; Reynolds won nothing but third and last place, but I tried to console people by saying that we were the coolest losers there, and someone else (I think it was Joe) said that the judges just didn't know how to judge. Casey called us together, there in the stands, to have a discussion about the effort we apply, and then we all put our hands in and said something like "Go Reynolds!" and met everyone at the buses.
About five minutes after we had merged onto the highway, Mr. James informed us that no matter what we scored, he thought we were awesome and would take us anywhere on a tour, and then we yelled "Yay Band!" one more time before I passed out on the seat.
My mom picked me up once we got back to the school and I fell asleep immediately when I got home, having extremely odd dreams that I prefer not to share.
On another note, I'm thinking of throwing a Halloween party for the people in marching band, because they're all pretty amazing, and it shall be at my dad's house if he approves. That would be pretty super, now that I think about it, what with our new deck and everything.
Once we arrived at the school, we took a step outside of the bus and collectively shivered. The wind chill made the 39 degrees seem ten degrees cooler, and I pulled my earmuffs from my purse as we headed in the direction of the bathrooms. On the way back, someone from the drum line (Vipul, I think) shouted, "It's snowing!" And snowing it was, though barely. Imperceptible flakes fell through the air, occasionally revealing themselves in the light. We had been prepared for the possibility of snow, but it was still really cold.
Once we had retrieved our uniforms and instruments, most of the band left to warm up (not literally, of course) in some warm-up area; Izzie and I stayed behind with the pit equipment, which was being loaded onto trailers by strong men. We followed the trailers onto the field and set up for the small audience that sat in the stands, on either side of the 50 yard line, Izzie with her timpani and me with my vibraphone and xylophone. Mr. James showed up a few minutes before Banks with the band behind him. After Banks saluted to the people in the press box to indicate that "his band was ready," Mr. James yelled from his bench, "Yay band!" really loudly. It was pretty awesome. Then we played "Sing, Sing, Sing," "Novus," and "Big Noise from Winnetka." My fingers were nearly frozen by the end of it, but something about them being frozen seemed to make playing with the mallets easier.
After performing for the judges, we all walked back to the bus, where we loaded our instruments and uniforms back onto the trailer. I grabbed my gloves from the bus and followed Ms. Reese and some other students back to the stadium where we would be watching some of the other 1a and 2a bands perform. We sat in the stands shivering for a while, me feeling colder than I could remember feeling, before I followed a group of girls to the bathroom, where we basked in the warmth until we were forced to go back out for the next band. While in the bathroom, Virginia and Laura told me about the competition last year, held in a different place; apparently it had been even colder, and the girls had taken refuge in the small, not-nearly-as-luxurious-as-Appalachian's-bathroom bathroom. After listening to this story, I walked back to my place in the stands, determined not to show that I was cold; I failed. Thankfully, not long after that, it was announced that we could go back to the bus for lunch at 3:45; we were bused over to Cici's Pizza, and we sat with our pizza, hoping that we could stay in the warmth for as long as possible. Mr James ushered us out when he estimated that the biggest bands, size 4a, would be starting to perform.
Back up in the stands, one level up from our previous location, I sat on the outside; we were all squeezed together for the most warmth, and Izzie let me use half of her blanket. Then, my left side was cold, and so I asked if I could trade seats with her; she finally agreed when I told her that she could use the whole blanket. And then I was not warm, but I was one of the happiest cold people there.
Throughout the bands' performances, I sat between Vipul and Izzie/Mitch/Izzie again as people came and went. Mr. James came through a few times, sitting in the seat in front of us. The snow also was capricious, sometimes coming down in near-flurries and sometimes not being present at all. There was always a bitter chill that made my very bones rattle as I sat, trying to warm myself under the corner of Virginia's blanket that I could pull over my right leg. Between performances, we had random discussions, one being of importance: we were talking about the songs that we had stuck in our head, and when I sang "Baby It's Cold Outside," I was informed by Virginia and Vipul that I have "a beautiful singing voice." I'm used to my dad laughing and saying, "That sounds like you're dying, Robyn," when I sing, and so that boosted my ego about 10 points or so if one can measure ego in points.
When Mitch was on my left, we were discussing half birthdays; he was saying how one of his friends had texted him, wishing him a happy half birthday when he didn't even realize its existence; I said, "Mine's in September." Vipul said his was on the fourth, and I was like, "No way, so's mine." and so I had discovered another March 4th birthday; Mitch's birthday was February 26th, I think, and so that made three Pisces people in the same place at the same time, and that is fairly fantabulous if you ask me.
So at the end, the seniors, Mr. James, and Banks went down for the awards ceremony, and we all stood up from our spots and stumbled down the stairs on numb feet for a better look over the railing; Reynolds won nothing but third and last place, but I tried to console people by saying that we were the coolest losers there, and someone else (I think it was Joe) said that the judges just didn't know how to judge. Casey called us together, there in the stands, to have a discussion about the effort we apply, and then we all put our hands in and said something like "Go Reynolds!" and met everyone at the buses.
About five minutes after we had merged onto the highway, Mr. James informed us that no matter what we scored, he thought we were awesome and would take us anywhere on a tour, and then we yelled "Yay Band!" one more time before I passed out on the seat.
My mom picked me up once we got back to the school and I fell asleep immediately when I got home, having extremely odd dreams that I prefer not to share.
On another note, I'm thinking of throwing a Halloween party for the people in marching band, because they're all pretty amazing, and it shall be at my dad's house if he approves. That would be pretty super, now that I think about it, what with our new deck and everything.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Weird Dream and October 8th 'til Now
I really meant to get on here yesterday, but I procrastinated since my family is still here; however, a dream that I had last night has basically forced me to come on and recount the events of the past few days.
October 8th, which was Thursday, was one of the most amazingly-musical days that I've have in a while. Marching band practice would last until 7:30 that night, as we were going to have a joint rehearsal with the Winston-Salem Symphony to make sure that the "1812 Overture" would be a success on Saturday (which is today, by the way). The band has finally perfected the half-time show, and so we practiced that for a while down in the lower parking lot, and I felt really confident afterward about "Big Noise From Winnetka," which is probably the most challenging piece that I have to play on the mallet instruments. Then, we retired to the band room to have a snack of donuts before we moved to the next part of our rehearsal. We had only rehearsed the Overture once before, and at a really slow pace, and so I was really worried, particularly because I have the cymbal part, which is difficult at the allegro vivace part where our band comes in (the part that everyone knows). So Vipul showed me the most efficient way to hold crash cymbals if you are a weakling, and the initial practice with Mr. James in the band room went swimmingly; he conducted us in a slow 4/4 at first, and progressed to the actual speed, still in four. This is probably what messed the trumpets up when we moved to the Auditorium, where we would rehearse with the Symphony. The conductor's name was Mr. Moody, and he had the marching band line up on either side of the audience's seats, facing the stage where he would have his back to us for most of the second part of the Overture, until turning to hold up his hand five measures before our entrance.
I'm telling you, it was the most amazing thing to be there in the flesh and watch professionals carry through that piece of music; to practice our entrance, he decided to start right before the descending strings section that I love so much, and it was just like watching the Osaka Philharmonic on Youtube, except for the fact that I was there in real life.
Then came the entrance, which I was relatively prepared for since I had watched that thing on Youtube so many times; however, the trumpets floundered, because Mr. Moody had switched to 2/4 cut time, and so they were under the impression that he was still conducting in a very slow 4/4. About ten minutes were spent instructing the trumpets, who happened to be on the percussionists' side of the room, closer to the stage (which sort of messed me up a few times because they were the only instruments I could really hear and their timing conflicted with Mr. Moody's conducting). But once these things were mended, and once I really got into playing the cymbals and was able to listen to the rest of the band and orchestra, it was a truly amazing experience; the exhilaration of playing that music with an orchestra was nearly spiritual. It was like God was in the room. Tonight we'll be rehearsing at 7:30.
Anyways, when I got home, still feeling slightly high, we played a game of cards until the doorbell rang and my dad disappeared outside; a few minutes later, he re-entered the house with Heather, who I haven't seen since June. We spoke to her for a half-hour or so; I asked her about Hope and how she's liking kindergarten, and she asked me about high school. And then I went to bed.
Of course, the next day was my grandfather's birthday, and I had a game that night to march at. I asked for practice off so that I could go to a small dinner with him (we're going to his special birthday dinner tonight, at the Village Tavern). Mr. James had told me that it was fine, and that they would take the xylophone and the vibraphone to Davie High if I decided to just meet them there. So that is what I ended up doing, meeting them at this school in the middle-of-nowhere-Mocksville. I ran into the stadium, afraid I was late, found the trailer where they were still unloading instruments, and I ran into Mr. James, who looked like he had seen a ghost. I said, "Hi, Mr. James," then, peering into the trailer, "Did you guys bring the mallet stuff?"
Mr. James had said that they forgot the mallet stuff, and so I ran back out to the parking lot to see if Grandpa was still there. I must have missed him by about two minutes, so I waited for about forty five minutes for him to drive back to pick me up.
That night I had the weird dream; I dreamt that all the marching band kids were lying on the dusty floor of the girls' gym, basking in the sunlight filtering in through the windows. I was lying close to the wall, and someone was near me, with their head resting on my left hip. Suddenly, we were called to attention by Mr. James, and so we stood up and marched out of the gym. We were walking along a dirt road that seemed to be out in the middle of nowhere. In front of us rose a hill that looked as though it arched up and became part of a mountain in the distance. The dirt road continued up this hill, but also forked shortly before the incline in the direction that we were headed. As we turned to follow this path, I noticed the sound of an engine in the distance, far up the inclined path.
A pick-up truck came barreling down the hill toward us, brown clouds of dust billowing up behind it. We all paused, unsure of how to respond; at the bottom of the hill, about 20 yards away from us, the truck skidded to a halt, and after a short moment of silence, a whole bunch of masked people came tumbling out of the cars (there were enough people squeezed in the automobile for it to qualify as a clown-car) carrying machine guns. We were under attack. It was about here that I woke up.
Last bit of news: tonight was the actual performance of "1812 Overture," and I was really nervous about it because apparently, the rehearsal time changed last night on the bus ride back from the game that I didn't get to attend. So, I arrived on the scene about ten minutes after rehearsal ended, and spent our free hour of eating pizza and socializing stressing out about the concert. When the time came to wait for our entrance, we lined up outside of the auditorium in our two lines of percussion/brass and other winds. In front of the auditorium entrance, there was a set of spotlights that beamed up into the sky, waving back and forth. As we stood there, someone said that "they should have their own batman symbol," except that instead of batman, it should be "a ninja with a violin," and that, instead of a bow, he would be clutching "a sword." So this proved to be adequate entertainment for our ten minute-or-so wait. The time that I didn't spend imagining spotlights with violin-clutching ninja symbols I spent intently examining the right ear of the person in front of me.
We finally filed in, the percussionists on the left side of the auditorium, right at the amazing descending strings section. Mr. James came to stand near the percussionists and brass so that he could direct us separately, as we would basically hold the rest of the band and orchestra together. To be truthful, our part came and went so fast that I didn't even have time to properly enjoy the amazing low brass part that generally moves me to tears. However, I was slightly panicked during the initial trumpet part, because I'm pretty certain that I slowed down, so I walked out feeling a little glum. I confessed to a few people that I felt like I had murdered a deity, because Tchaikovsky was already dead.
Thankfully, my dad and grandparents were in the loft, and so hadn't seen or heard me mess up. The rest of this night has passed uneventfully until now; and now, I think, is a good time for me to retire.
October 8th, which was Thursday, was one of the most amazingly-musical days that I've have in a while. Marching band practice would last until 7:30 that night, as we were going to have a joint rehearsal with the Winston-Salem Symphony to make sure that the "1812 Overture" would be a success on Saturday (which is today, by the way). The band has finally perfected the half-time show, and so we practiced that for a while down in the lower parking lot, and I felt really confident afterward about "Big Noise From Winnetka," which is probably the most challenging piece that I have to play on the mallet instruments. Then, we retired to the band room to have a snack of donuts before we moved to the next part of our rehearsal. We had only rehearsed the Overture once before, and at a really slow pace, and so I was really worried, particularly because I have the cymbal part, which is difficult at the allegro vivace part where our band comes in (the part that everyone knows). So Vipul showed me the most efficient way to hold crash cymbals if you are a weakling, and the initial practice with Mr. James in the band room went swimmingly; he conducted us in a slow 4/4 at first, and progressed to the actual speed, still in four. This is probably what messed the trumpets up when we moved to the Auditorium, where we would rehearse with the Symphony. The conductor's name was Mr. Moody, and he had the marching band line up on either side of the audience's seats, facing the stage where he would have his back to us for most of the second part of the Overture, until turning to hold up his hand five measures before our entrance.
I'm telling you, it was the most amazing thing to be there in the flesh and watch professionals carry through that piece of music; to practice our entrance, he decided to start right before the descending strings section that I love so much, and it was just like watching the Osaka Philharmonic on Youtube, except for the fact that I was there in real life.
Then came the entrance, which I was relatively prepared for since I had watched that thing on Youtube so many times; however, the trumpets floundered, because Mr. Moody had switched to 2/4 cut time, and so they were under the impression that he was still conducting in a very slow 4/4. About ten minutes were spent instructing the trumpets, who happened to be on the percussionists' side of the room, closer to the stage (which sort of messed me up a few times because they were the only instruments I could really hear and their timing conflicted with Mr. Moody's conducting). But once these things were mended, and once I really got into playing the cymbals and was able to listen to the rest of the band and orchestra, it was a truly amazing experience; the exhilaration of playing that music with an orchestra was nearly spiritual. It was like God was in the room. Tonight we'll be rehearsing at 7:30.
Anyways, when I got home, still feeling slightly high, we played a game of cards until the doorbell rang and my dad disappeared outside; a few minutes later, he re-entered the house with Heather, who I haven't seen since June. We spoke to her for a half-hour or so; I asked her about Hope and how she's liking kindergarten, and she asked me about high school. And then I went to bed.
Of course, the next day was my grandfather's birthday, and I had a game that night to march at. I asked for practice off so that I could go to a small dinner with him (we're going to his special birthday dinner tonight, at the Village Tavern). Mr. James had told me that it was fine, and that they would take the xylophone and the vibraphone to Davie High if I decided to just meet them there. So that is what I ended up doing, meeting them at this school in the middle-of-nowhere-Mocksville. I ran into the stadium, afraid I was late, found the trailer where they were still unloading instruments, and I ran into Mr. James, who looked like he had seen a ghost. I said, "Hi, Mr. James," then, peering into the trailer, "Did you guys bring the mallet stuff?"
Mr. James had said that they forgot the mallet stuff, and so I ran back out to the parking lot to see if Grandpa was still there. I must have missed him by about two minutes, so I waited for about forty five minutes for him to drive back to pick me up.
That night I had the weird dream; I dreamt that all the marching band kids were lying on the dusty floor of the girls' gym, basking in the sunlight filtering in through the windows. I was lying close to the wall, and someone was near me, with their head resting on my left hip. Suddenly, we were called to attention by Mr. James, and so we stood up and marched out of the gym. We were walking along a dirt road that seemed to be out in the middle of nowhere. In front of us rose a hill that looked as though it arched up and became part of a mountain in the distance. The dirt road continued up this hill, but also forked shortly before the incline in the direction that we were headed. As we turned to follow this path, I noticed the sound of an engine in the distance, far up the inclined path.
A pick-up truck came barreling down the hill toward us, brown clouds of dust billowing up behind it. We all paused, unsure of how to respond; at the bottom of the hill, about 20 yards away from us, the truck skidded to a halt, and after a short moment of silence, a whole bunch of masked people came tumbling out of the cars (there were enough people squeezed in the automobile for it to qualify as a clown-car) carrying machine guns. We were under attack. It was about here that I woke up.
Last bit of news: tonight was the actual performance of "1812 Overture," and I was really nervous about it because apparently, the rehearsal time changed last night on the bus ride back from the game that I didn't get to attend. So, I arrived on the scene about ten minutes after rehearsal ended, and spent our free hour of eating pizza and socializing stressing out about the concert. When the time came to wait for our entrance, we lined up outside of the auditorium in our two lines of percussion/brass and other winds. In front of the auditorium entrance, there was a set of spotlights that beamed up into the sky, waving back and forth. As we stood there, someone said that "they should have their own batman symbol," except that instead of batman, it should be "a ninja with a violin," and that, instead of a bow, he would be clutching "a sword." So this proved to be adequate entertainment for our ten minute-or-so wait. The time that I didn't spend imagining spotlights with violin-clutching ninja symbols I spent intently examining the right ear of the person in front of me.
We finally filed in, the percussionists on the left side of the auditorium, right at the amazing descending strings section. Mr. James came to stand near the percussionists and brass so that he could direct us separately, as we would basically hold the rest of the band and orchestra together. To be truthful, our part came and went so fast that I didn't even have time to properly enjoy the amazing low brass part that generally moves me to tears. However, I was slightly panicked during the initial trumpet part, because I'm pretty certain that I slowed down, so I walked out feeling a little glum. I confessed to a few people that I felt like I had murdered a deity, because Tchaikovsky was already dead.
Thankfully, my dad and grandparents were in the loft, and so hadn't seen or heard me mess up. The rest of this night has passed uneventfully until now; and now, I think, is a good time for me to retire.
Monday, October 5, 2009
A First in Dreams
Wow, people; I have something amazing to report to you, and it is this: As of a few nights ago, I had my very first marching band dream.
Our marching band was playing out of state in the dream, though we were still at a Reynolds football game. My dad, in the dream, seemed to be a drum-major type person filling in for Banks and for Mr. James, who didn't seem to be in the dream at all. We entered the stadium to the usual drum line cadence, marching around the perimeter of the indoor field. Coming to our end of the stands, we began to climb the steps of the bleachers, me taking up the rear with this red cowbell thing and a snare stick. The percussionists climbed to the top two rows, the bass drums taking the top row and everyone else sharing the second highest row. I was on the end closest to the stairs; before sitting down, I felt the urge to search in my purse for something, and so I set the red cowbell thing down on my seat along with the snare stick. I rummaged in my purse, found what I was looking for (which, I think, was a phone, though I can't be completely sure) and zipped the purse back up, setting it beneath the seat. Then, when I straightened up to grab the instrument and sit down, I noticed that it was missing. Yanal, who plays the smallest bass drum, assisted me in my search for the cowbell and the stick, but we couldn't find it anywhere. It's sort of ironic, because Yanal has had the misfortune of dropping his bass mallets between the cracks of the bleachers himself on a few occasions. So I was extremely stressed out, because my dream self seemed to think that every piece of stand music would be worthless without the cowbell. As I was bent over, searching around, my dad came up behind me and tapped me on the back.
"Hon," he said grimly, "I'd just give up the search now; You'll just have to pay Mr. James for his cowbell."
And then I was confused, because in the past when Yanal dropped things behind the bleachers, he was usually able to get them back at the end of the game. I told my father this and he shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Robyn, but you'll just have to pay for the thing you misplaced." I wanted to argue, but felt very upset and tongue-tied, and so I sat down and said nothing. That was the end of that dream.
I had another interesting one a few days later. It was about my recent trip to Montreat as well as the cruise that we were on just this year, which made the elements of the dream very confusing. For example, at the beginning of the dream, a mixture of the kids from Montreat and the cruise were out in the middle of the ocean, riding in these boats that were very much like charter buses on the inside. The people steering the boats seemed to be our youth group leaders (I know for sure that the captain of my charter boat was Amasa, who is a youth group leader).
Each charter boat had two cloth divisions to distinguish three parts of the boat, much like a first, second, and third class on an airplane; however, it didn't really matter where you sat, so these cloth divisions (which were in the middle of the aisles and which had a beige floral pattern on them) were somewhat pointless. I remember that I had a window seat in what would have been the very back of the entire boat. I was on the left side of the aisle. The window was round, and I could see the rolling sea (which expanded until the ocean met the sky at the horizon) beyond it. There were only three of us at the very back of the boat: a girl whom I don't know by name who went to Montreat, a boy whom I met on the cruise, and myself. The boy was sitting in the seat next to me and the girl sat across the aisle, and was constantly leaning across the space to flirt with and practically paw at the boy from the cruise. He wasn't paying attention; his eyes seemed to be fixed on the headrest of the seat in front of him, but this girl was really irritating me. I was looking out of the window at the ocean, and her loud voice was interrupting my thoughts. Before I got up to move to a different seat, Amasa stuck his head around the curtain and told the girl to be quiet, for he thought that he perceived enemy ships in the water ahead. I don't know why that necessitated her silence, but oh well.
There were three total charter boats in the water, I knew, and ours was the one in front. The boat slowed and as I looked out of the window, I noticed that the one that was directly behind us was pulling slowly alongside our charter boat. Our boats came to a dead halt and we sat there silently for what seemed like an hour. I heard a clap of thunder in the sky and, all of a sudden, buckets of rain fell from a swarm of clouds that turned the sky as black as night. The boats swayed in the turbulent water as we waited for more news of enemy ships.
Just after it seemed that we couldn't wait any longer, a loud crack out in the distance sounded, and we all knew that it wasn't lightning. With a much louder BOOM, the cannon-ball landed on the ceiling of our charter boat and dented it so that it seemed to cave in on the third class section. The boy, the girl, and I stuggled underneath the steel dent and through the cloth division to get to the second class portion, where everyone seemed to be huddled. The boat rocked sideways dangerously, about to roll right over in the water; a spray of ocean water hit those of us near a window that seemed to be leaking.
"Fire the cannons!" Amasa yelled, clutching a steering wheel at the front of the boat. We were moving again, and I could see from one of the windows that we were headed for a distant island that seemed to have a large hotel-like building on it. Our boat was nearly there, traveling at full-speed, with the frightening hollow echoes of the enemy cannons trailing behind us, when I woke up to my alarm going off.
Our marching band was playing out of state in the dream, though we were still at a Reynolds football game. My dad, in the dream, seemed to be a drum-major type person filling in for Banks and for Mr. James, who didn't seem to be in the dream at all. We entered the stadium to the usual drum line cadence, marching around the perimeter of the indoor field. Coming to our end of the stands, we began to climb the steps of the bleachers, me taking up the rear with this red cowbell thing and a snare stick. The percussionists climbed to the top two rows, the bass drums taking the top row and everyone else sharing the second highest row. I was on the end closest to the stairs; before sitting down, I felt the urge to search in my purse for something, and so I set the red cowbell thing down on my seat along with the snare stick. I rummaged in my purse, found what I was looking for (which, I think, was a phone, though I can't be completely sure) and zipped the purse back up, setting it beneath the seat. Then, when I straightened up to grab the instrument and sit down, I noticed that it was missing. Yanal, who plays the smallest bass drum, assisted me in my search for the cowbell and the stick, but we couldn't find it anywhere. It's sort of ironic, because Yanal has had the misfortune of dropping his bass mallets between the cracks of the bleachers himself on a few occasions. So I was extremely stressed out, because my dream self seemed to think that every piece of stand music would be worthless without the cowbell. As I was bent over, searching around, my dad came up behind me and tapped me on the back.
"Hon," he said grimly, "I'd just give up the search now; You'll just have to pay Mr. James for his cowbell."
And then I was confused, because in the past when Yanal dropped things behind the bleachers, he was usually able to get them back at the end of the game. I told my father this and he shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Robyn, but you'll just have to pay for the thing you misplaced." I wanted to argue, but felt very upset and tongue-tied, and so I sat down and said nothing. That was the end of that dream.
I had another interesting one a few days later. It was about my recent trip to Montreat as well as the cruise that we were on just this year, which made the elements of the dream very confusing. For example, at the beginning of the dream, a mixture of the kids from Montreat and the cruise were out in the middle of the ocean, riding in these boats that were very much like charter buses on the inside. The people steering the boats seemed to be our youth group leaders (I know for sure that the captain of my charter boat was Amasa, who is a youth group leader).
Each charter boat had two cloth divisions to distinguish three parts of the boat, much like a first, second, and third class on an airplane; however, it didn't really matter where you sat, so these cloth divisions (which were in the middle of the aisles and which had a beige floral pattern on them) were somewhat pointless. I remember that I had a window seat in what would have been the very back of the entire boat. I was on the left side of the aisle. The window was round, and I could see the rolling sea (which expanded until the ocean met the sky at the horizon) beyond it. There were only three of us at the very back of the boat: a girl whom I don't know by name who went to Montreat, a boy whom I met on the cruise, and myself. The boy was sitting in the seat next to me and the girl sat across the aisle, and was constantly leaning across the space to flirt with and practically paw at the boy from the cruise. He wasn't paying attention; his eyes seemed to be fixed on the headrest of the seat in front of him, but this girl was really irritating me. I was looking out of the window at the ocean, and her loud voice was interrupting my thoughts. Before I got up to move to a different seat, Amasa stuck his head around the curtain and told the girl to be quiet, for he thought that he perceived enemy ships in the water ahead. I don't know why that necessitated her silence, but oh well.
There were three total charter boats in the water, I knew, and ours was the one in front. The boat slowed and as I looked out of the window, I noticed that the one that was directly behind us was pulling slowly alongside our charter boat. Our boats came to a dead halt and we sat there silently for what seemed like an hour. I heard a clap of thunder in the sky and, all of a sudden, buckets of rain fell from a swarm of clouds that turned the sky as black as night. The boats swayed in the turbulent water as we waited for more news of enemy ships.
Just after it seemed that we couldn't wait any longer, a loud crack out in the distance sounded, and we all knew that it wasn't lightning. With a much louder BOOM, the cannon-ball landed on the ceiling of our charter boat and dented it so that it seemed to cave in on the third class section. The boy, the girl, and I stuggled underneath the steel dent and through the cloth division to get to the second class portion, where everyone seemed to be huddled. The boat rocked sideways dangerously, about to roll right over in the water; a spray of ocean water hit those of us near a window that seemed to be leaking.
"Fire the cannons!" Amasa yelled, clutching a steering wheel at the front of the boat. We were moving again, and I could see from one of the windows that we were headed for a distant island that seemed to have a large hotel-like building on it. Our boat was nearly there, traveling at full-speed, with the frightening hollow echoes of the enemy cannons trailing behind us, when I woke up to my alarm going off.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Bear Dream
I just thought I'd tell you people about my odd dream that I just remembered having this morning. It was about my dog, Bear. My mom had this house on a sort of cliff, where we were surrounded by land on three sides, but the back of our house bordered a sort of abyss. Our garage was on the second floor, and not only was it on the second floor, it faced outward onto the abyss, which made no sense whatsoever. In this garage, we kept a few flying motorcycles similar to the hovering things that resemble motorcycles in the Star Wars trilogy (yes, I know I'm a nerd). So I suppose that it wasn't that stupid having the back of the garage face the abyss as long as we were equipped with flying vehicles. But anyways, we never used these motorcycles for one reason or another, so they were just gathering dust in the second floor of this ginormous house that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, though the house itself was by no means rustic; it was a few floors high and the walls gleamed (I think that they were constructed of metal).
My mother, my father, and I were having lunch on the third floor, in a brightly-lit kitchen area over a glass table, when a rumbling noise from the floor below disrupted our conversation. Upon hurrying downstairs, I saw my Australian Shepard dog, Bear, attempting to mount a red motorcycle. He was nearly successful in driving out into the black abyss, and would have been had I not thrust myself over the cliff, clinging to the back of the motorcycle. My mother grabbed me around the waist, and with our combined strength, we were able to wrestle the motorcycle back into the garage and get Bear off of it.
This was about when I woke up.
My mother, my father, and I were having lunch on the third floor, in a brightly-lit kitchen area over a glass table, when a rumbling noise from the floor below disrupted our conversation. Upon hurrying downstairs, I saw my Australian Shepard dog, Bear, attempting to mount a red motorcycle. He was nearly successful in driving out into the black abyss, and would have been had I not thrust myself over the cliff, clinging to the back of the motorcycle. My mother grabbed me around the waist, and with our combined strength, we were able to wrestle the motorcycle back into the garage and get Bear off of it.
This was about when I woke up.
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