Break time.

Oh, Winter Break. Four weeks of nothing to do. I dream of this time throughout the semester, imagining the bliss of waking up without it being precipitated by an alarm or just a quiet afternoon on the porch, bundled up with a book in my hand. The plans, the amount of things to be accomplished, aided by the fact that my bullshit schedule won't allow time for a job until around April. It is so...free. Then comes the first day.

This first day is different than it has been in the past couple of years. My first year of college, I got a job shortly after the end of the first semester-during which I had collapsed a lung, quit a job, moved back into my parents' house and basically revised my entire life in a week. My second and third years, I went home to Southern Vermont as soon as I was able. The ultimate goal. Home, old friends, Christmas Dinner and love. This was during my time at Castleton, when the dream amongst myself and my closest friends was to eat Mom's cooking and get drunk with Dad. This year...not so much.

Last week I spent in Castleton, visiting a few old friends and mostly just indulging myself in the memories of two incredible years spent in such a uniquely welcoming place. Throughout that time I visited my fruit fly, and even posted a blog about her. She left from Albany to go home to her parents' this morning, leaving me to my first honestly free day of break. Today is the first entirely unplanned day that I have had since August. And reality is sinking in.

Oh shit, I don't have a job. Dude, I've barely practiced in weeks, how can I possibly consider getting a performance or composition Master's degree if I can't get into a PhD program right away? I've gained 8 pounds this week! (Okay all of this is true, but the eight pounds can be explained by the fact that I have not indulged in Central Vermont cuisine since May, and have been smoking rabid amounts of pot since the semester ended.)

So now I am entering this break the same way I have entered Winter Break the past few years: with guilt.  I get high too much, I drink too much lately, I'm gaining weight, I could have done better than my 3.95 GPA.  (I got an A- in Keyboard Harmony, which was the only thing keeping me from a 4.0.) (Oh, and that may have been a run-down of this semester, but it is almost exactly the same as my first semester at Castleton.)

After the guilt comes work.  Once the guilt fades even slightly, it lets reality in.  And the reality is that, like every other music major that is freaking out this week over what they are failing miserably at, I am human. I skip weeks of practicing, I overindulge and occasionally, I lose my mind. Once that is noticed, then comes the work to not only atone for whatever damage I may have caused during this, but also to set myself back in balance with my life. I practice enough to nail the placement auditions and to conquer a major work or two (hehe right), I research the beginning of a thesis for my PhD entrance requirements and I start running again.

Or at least that's the plan in about a week when I get over this bullshit.  :)

Every girl needs a gay best friend.

And every gay needs a fruit fly. So said my fruit fly, Mere, last week. She's currently moving a lamp so that it makes my shadow dance on the wall behind me. Who's the gay one here? Earlier she was petting me.

I'm in loverly Bomoseen, VT, visiting my old college, and more importantly, my fruit fly. "Okay, Jay, you keep saying fruit fly, but I'm none too quick and I don't get it." Well, you may have heard the term 'fag hag'. Yeah, this term is pretty disrespectful to the girl, and not very flattering to anyone who chooses to spend so much time with a 'hag'. After hearing about this term, Mere said to me, "If you ever call me that, I will kill you." [In the meantime, she has chosen to make writing this entry impossible by hitting the keys on my keyboard and feeling in my pockets to see what's in there.  (Oh yeah, she found out....kidding.)]  But shortly after hearing this abomination of an affectionate nickname we heard a different term being thrown around, with the same meaning: fruit fly. We decided this was much cuter, and adopted it as our own, unlike our future children; those are coming through artificial insemination. They will be cute kids.

She's judging me right now.

Two years ago, during my first semester at Castleton, the choir had a silent auction for a fundraiser; we were touring Europe the next spring. At this auction was a photograph taken  of a country road in autumn, in full foliage. I bid $35 on this piece, with the intention of giving it to my mother for Christmas. Well, Mere had the same idea, and out-bid me by $2. As the bidding closed, she began to get worried about my reaction, as we didn't really know each other very well yet, and asked around to see if I would think of her as a 'horrible person'. When she asked a mutual friend, Nate, he offered to tell me for her, with her standing right beside him.

They both approached me.  "Jay?" Nate asked. When I looked up, he continued, "Mere has something to tell you." And bolted. So she told me that we both bid on the same picture, and that she won by $2. "You are a horrible person," was the first sentence out of my mouth. 

Our friendship has only become more sadistic in the last two years. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Urban decay

So today after my Ear Training final I planned to drive to Bennington to cash a check from the Symphony. Not because I could only cash it in Vermont, but more because I was bored and wanted to do something. When I left, I noticed how cool everything looked with the ice storm we got last night, so I ran back in to grab my camera and take pictures on the way out. Then I realized how cool everything downtown would look today with the ice so I decided to go there and just walk around taking pictures. Needless to say, Bennington didn't happen and I cashed my check at Price Chopper. But it was totally worth it because I got some really cool pictures. I focused most of them on urban decay, and on Wellington Row in particular.

Wellington Row is made of five buildings on State Street in downtown Albany. They were among the first buildings in the city, and were the place where State Street became commercial instead of residential. In the late 70s (I think) they were placed on the National Register of Historic Places.  Shortly afterward, the Wellington Hotel closed and the buildings were sold to a corporation that planned to demolish them and build a 14 story office building in their place. A battle with the city of Albany ensued and the buildings were bought very recently by a different company that plans to preserve as much of the buildings as possible, and build the office building on whatever isn't salvageable.  The facades of all the buildings will be kept. However, it doesn't look good. In the twenty years that they have been unoccupied, they have fallen into extreme disrepair. An article was released recently that told the story of an inspector actually falling through the floor while assessing the damage.

I'm hoping to get a really nice camera as a graduation present, because I've always loved photography and it is the only visual art form that I show even the most basic talent in. However, the photos that I took today and plan to take in the near future, especially documenting the transition of Wellington Row, are the only ones that I will get. I won't be able to retake them because the subject won't exist anymore at that point. It will be revitalized, which obviously is a great thing because these pictures are taken in the heart of otherwise nice downtown Albany. 

Expect a link soon where all of the photos I took today can be found.  

Yeah, so...

It's not looking good for me staying at Saint Rose. It really is coming down to this one class. I have a strong urge to not come back next semester whether or not I pass it. It is a very frustrating place to be. Even my roommate, who works for the college, confirmed last night that the faculty of the school actively screws their students. (Not in that way, shut up.) I can't get an email or phone call returned. I called Financial Aid yesterday to find out about how to withdraw and left a message. Today I had to call again because no one returned my call. I've emailed the same professor twice about Convocation. Today I received an email saying that my Percussion Techniques notebook was ready, but nothing about the question I've asked twice. I called my old school to find out about the process of returning, caught one staff member on her lunch break and left a message. She called me back within a half hour. Now, Saint Rose isn't much larger. They're small enough to do something for their students.

In other news, I've reaffirmed how done things are with my ex. I realized through I conversation that I'm actually still having that I don't even want to hear about him anymore.  Soooo glad he's almost out of here. Then again, so am I. At least I can appreciate the irony.  I canceled the could-have-been-a-date that I had planned tonight. I'm very much not at a point where anything like that could be beneficial, whether we became friends or...anything.  

I've had this kind of disconnect from anyone and everything in my life before, usually in Wardsboro, my adopted hometown in Vermont. (I'm originally from Massachusetts.) A year or so after I graduated high school, it was a really cool place to be. Everyone just seemed to get along. Then most people turned into...um...dirty white trash is a nice way to put it. The same disconnect is happening now, except that I'm in the middle of three places: Albany, Castleton and Wardsboro. Wardsboro I left 2 years ago and I'm growing increasingly distant from. Castleton I left in August, same kind of thing, but I still keep in contact with everyone more. And Albany I never really got into in the first place. I haven't hung out with anyone except Calvin and my roommates since moving here. The people in the music department seem cool but I only have music in common with them. I say this because that's all that seems to be allowed. Any time that I have hung out with people in the music dept., usually with my weird ex, music has been the only topic of conversation. I can't handle that. I've been obsessed with music since I was born, I can't remember not having music playing in my head, but there are many other things to be interested in, and at some point in the day, music has to be done.

You know what? I can handle the fact that I sound like a whiny high schooler right now. Things are kind of crazy and falling apart...quickly. And reverting to the age of sixteen isn't so bad of a thing, when you think about it.

In happier news, my last final is tomorrow morning, and then I'm done with everything. Well, except for the cantata this weekend. But at least I'll have time to figure all of this out. I can't think of a single thing that isn't up in the air right now. I think I need to try out some new things. If I go back to Castleton, I may try to act in a play or take up yoga or start smoking crack. Get a new perspective. :P

UPDATE:  I just wrote an excuse into the department chair about missing that Convocation.  I realized that as much as I dislike Saint Rose, I dislike moving even more, and just don't want to do it again.  I love my apartment and my sketchy neighborhood and really just want to finish my degree as quickly as possible.  So I'm dropping my history minor (saving myself from getting up early every morning next semester, and giving myself extended weekends) and just finishing my BA fucking pronto.

Uncertainty

Okay, so I had my final and jury.  Yay, they're done!  Bah, whatever, I think they both sucked.  I got two A-'s and an A on my jury.  I really don't think I played very well.  And the comments I got seemed to confirm this.  But the piece I was doing wasn't great; I stopped liking it after the third week.  "But Jay, you have to sell it, even if you hate it."  I know, I know.  But.  Somehow during this past week I forgot how to play it, so I actually did a bit better than I had predicted.

Now onto the latest drama.  So we have a weekly all-department recital called Convocation.  Apparently, if you miss one, and it's unexcused, you fail.  Well, I missed one unexcused.  So apparently I'm going to fail.  Since you need it to graduate, this would keep me hear an extra semester, with no scholarship, which I'm definitely not paying for.  I'm waiting to hear back from the assistant department chair now.  If this is the case, I don't really mind.  I'm EXTREMELY unimpressed with Saint Rose...yeah that's a nice way to put it, generous even.  So if I don't pass, I'm probably moving home for next semester and working a ton to pay off this semester's scholarship, then going somewhere else next fall.

Other than that, I'm now enjoying the day off, doing laundry and hanging out with Calvin in a little bit.

My first posting...again

So I started a blog again.  I kinda missed it.  Eventually I'll put up a link when I decide what this will be about.  Or I'll do it now.  Whatevs.  I'm thinking it will just be about my life, along with incredibly witty and hilarious commentary about everything in it.  Or, that last sentence without adjectives.

So I will start:  Tomorrow I have a Music History final at 8 a.m., and my tuba jury at 11:30.  Now you're thinking 'what the hell are you doing creating a blog when you have all that going on?'  Or, you're thinking, 'what the hell are you talking about?'

I'll answer the second question, since I really have no good answer for the first.  I attend the prestigious (why does every sarcastic description of a college involve the word 'prestigious'?) College of Saint Rose in Albany, NY.  I'm majoring in music with a minor in history.  Since my principal instrument is tuba, that explains the jury thing.  A jury is basically a final exam on your instrument, where you go into a room and play a solo for faculty members with an accompanist.  Apparently, it's terrifying.  I've never done one, but I'll let you now tomorrow.  (Side note, when I figure out how this works, I'll post a picture of me playing tuba.  You'll be even more apathetic than you are now.)

A bit more about me: I'm 26 years old, single, gay, and there's an 'n' that I apparently typed underneath all the places to type on this screen.  I don't know how that got there.  To answer your next question: yes, I'm an undergrad.   An old one.  But a cute one.  Who looks younger than most freshman.  So shut up.  I'm in my junior year, and I plan to barely survive all I have to do to graduate in 2010.

So yeah, tomorrow I have a crap ton of stuff to do, but then I get to hang out with my wonderful friend Calvin later on.  Then, Thursday, I get to do this thing called sleeping.  It's a bit unfamiliar to me lately, but hopefully it won't take me long to get used to it again.  Then  a Wind Ensemble rehearsal, followed by what may or may not be a date.  The guy seems really cool, which is more than I ever say about guys, so maybe...  And if it is a date, and more dating occurs, the comforting thing is that he probably wouldn't be more terrible than my last boyfriend.

Eventually, I'll get into the complications I will have with dating.  It's not pretty.  

All of this stuff to do culminates on Saturday night with a cantata for the Wind Ensemble and Masterworks Chorale at Saint Rose to celebrate our new building (that they just keep fucking celebrating and need to stop).  It's sold out; sorry to break your heart.  And that will officially be the end of the semester!  Yay!

And this is officially the end of this post!  Congratulations to me on my toasty blog!!