Waiting

Those I Admire Most

I am listening to the “I Have Had Singing” CD, which has to be my absolute favorite. It is a retrospective of Jerry Blackstone’s 14 years as conductor of U of M Men’s Glee Club. Everyone who listens to the CD enjoys it, even those not generally interested in choral music. And those who DO know something about choral music appreciate it even more. I gave a copy to my Case Western choir director, Robert Dunn, and he e-mailed me a couple weeks later:

WOW! Put that in 100 point font! A HUGE sound! And so precise and sung with great feeling. What a wonderful group to be a part of! Congratulations! If only we had a student body of 20,000 or so to find enough great singers to have such a group.

Dr. Dunn was right — a student body of 20,000 (plus grad students, so 35,000 actually) is a big step in finding enough singers for a great choir. But it’s not the only prerequisite. I sang under both Dr. B and his replacement. With the exact same choir, the new conductor produced a sound that was not nearly as beautiful. Those who know a little about choral music can usually point out the differences — limited dynamics, differently shaped vowels, less-than-masterful blending. The new conductor, a noted opera singer, wanted everyone to sing like a soloist. This produced a brash sound which, while good enough, was nowhere near the level of Blackstone’s choir. Blackstone was breathing the music. His replacement, though competent, was just beating time.

I have never taken a music education course. I have never conducted. So I don’t want to convey the impression that I could do it any better than Blackstone’s replacement — indeed, I would likely fail miserably. I simply want to point out that conducting is NOT simply beating time, and that access to great singers does NOT guarantee an amazing choir. Those unfamiliar with the intricacies of conducting often don’t realize how important — and rare — a good conductor is. Doctor B. was one of the best.

Someday I plan to add a “Those I Admire” section to this Web site, where I can fully praise all the people who have contributed to my life in meaningful ways. The people I admire most.

Until then, let this post be a start.

A TiVo Moment

I had a TiVo Moment tonight. This is defined as a moment when I really really wish I had a TiVo. I was watching the West Wing, which is fantastic this season. Tonight’s episode was particularly excellent. Well, I really get into it — “Bill of Rights” this and “enriched uranium” that — when I get a phone call.

“Hello?”
“This is Napoli Pizza,” she says. “Your pizza will be there in three minutes. I’m just calling to ask that you be downstairs in three minutes.”
“I will be downstairs. In three minutes.”
“Thank you.” She hangs up.

I wait two minutes, and then leave Josh and Donna as they are urgently discussing something important and secretive. I go downstairs, all set to greet the Pizza Man and give him too much money for an unknown commodity.

He is not there. I wait. One minute, two minutes, five minutes… all the while cursing the damn pizzaguy who made ME stand outside and wait for HIM. And while I was waiting, I realized that if I had a TiVo, I could have pressed “Pause” when the pizza place called, waited for 10-15 minutes, and not been miffed at all because I could simply UNpause when I returned! Just one of the many benefits of TiVo that I currently lack because I would rather waste $100 gambling on the Internet than go out and get a TiVo box.

Hmmmm.

Then there is the part of me that thinks, Matt, if you get TiVo, you will spend all your leisure time watching TV and none of it reading. This would be a valid concern, but I don’t spend much leisure time reading as it is. Yet there’s always the part of me that wants to improve myself, and reading more would count as improving myself — and TiVo would pre-empt that improvement.

“Gentlemen… to evil!” *

“All that is necessary for the forces of evil to win in the world is for enough good men to do nothing.”
– Edmund Burke (1729-97)
I have been made aware of the existence of Evil Web Surfers. Kind of like that Quantum Leap episode where Sam encounters “Evil Leapers,” except these Evil Web Surfers are likely not that attractive.

In response, I shall heed the words of Edmund Burke. Look for changes to this site, very soon. (Changes such as: Registration for comments, IP blocking, possibly a password of some sort.) But not too soon, because I am in the midst of Finals.

* Free drinks to whomever is the first to tell me where the headline comes from…

Immaturity

When I was younger, I assumed that immaturity was limited to children, and once I entered college and beyond, these children would have grown up. I learned quite quickly, however, that some people are destined to be infantile for the entire duration of their pathetic little lives.

I posted an essay entitled “Academic Impotence” during a mid-night session of soul searching. As usual, no one is required to read my Web site. Normally, only friends and family take the time to check up on me. Today, however, someone (or a group of someones) decided to engage in a good old-fashioned “flame war” against me. Their series of baseless insults, purportedly from a group of Case Western law students, was intended to be hurtful (think along the lines of: you only got into Georgetown because I turned them down, you’ll never make it, etc). As usual, immaturity reigned (i.e. “you are such a douche bag,” etc).

I am happy to say that their flames have had the opposite effect. I look upon the insults and I smile, shake my head in wonder. Whoever left those messages is clearly very insecure, and finds comfort in attempting to hurt others. Whether the posters are indeed from Case Western is immaterial (though, it’s worth noting, a check of the IP log will verify their location). What matters is that there will always be assholes in this world, and their words carry credence only if we take them seriously. I shan’t.

Indeed, I made the mistake of baring my soul for all the world to see, in the process forgetting that some in this world are not friendly. Their own insecurity causes them to strike at the first sign of another’s vulnerability. And yet, though their words were meaningless, I find myself with a resolve hitherto unseen. It is with that resolve that I return to my studies, eager to prove the bastards wrong. To quote Richard Nixon:

“Remember, always give your best. Never get discouraged. Never be petty. Always remember, others may hate you. But those who hate you don’t win unless you hate them. And then you destroy yourself.”

Academic Impotence

Join me as I stand here petrified, methodically placing pizza rolls in the toaster oven, row by row, column by column, even as I realize that I am getting nauseous at the thought of eating even one more pizza roll tonight. Yet I continue carefully placing the frozen pizza goodies on the metal rack until a baker’s dozen is lined up in a gridlike formation, and I let the empty pizza roll bag drop into the garbage below, and I gently slide the rack back into the oven and close the glass door and turn the dial clockwise to 425 degrees. I look into the miniature oven, my face just an inch away from the glass, and I marvel as the long tubes lining the top and bottom begin to glow, and then blaze as the heat emanates through the partition and onto my cheeks. And I realize that anything would be better than pizza rolls. Damn the frosted strawberry Pop Tarts that went missing yesterday, somewhere between the checkout line and my tiny efficiency apartment — they would be perfect right now. I look around the shelves at my roommate’s many boxes of cereal, cereal that I would quickly steal if any of the boxes contained Cheerios. But there are no Cheerios. Cheerios would be perfect right about now, I think, and a vision flashes in my mind of me sitting at the kitchen table eating a delicious bowl of Cheerios and milk. Resigned to another night of pizza rolls, I turn and walk slowly into my room.

Conscious that the most important thing for me to do right now is study, I force myself to do anything but that, because as soon as I begin trying to prepare in earnest for the Cybercrime final that is just six days away, the nightmare that I have been repressing these past few weeks will become real, and terror will dawn as I face the sheer enormity of the truth: I have no idea what I’m doing. It will take a miracle to prepare me for the five tests that stand in front of me, blocking my path. From somewhere in my mind I hear a droning voice, the same voice that has been chanting at me since November. My voice, repeating the involuntary mantra, “I am so fucking screwed, I am so fucking screwed, I am so fucking screwed.” My conscious mind attempts to push the voice away, to think about anything but the voice — and that only makes it louder. I am so fucking screwed, I realize. Masochistically, I type the phrase into Google, and add the word “finals.” I hit Enter. Hundreds of people now face me, their blogs shouting the same mantra that has taunted me for weeks… for months… ever since I got word that my application for transfer had been accepted. I am not at Case anymore.

I begin to read some of the sites. Students — at least, students in title — doing everything they can to avoid the marathon study sessions that stand between them and a passing grade in whatever class was clearly above their head. I smile in recognition, and my heart goes out to these people, even though they are Internet strangers whose posts were dated months or years before today. My heart goes out to them because they and I are the same, at our core. And I realize that I am not a masochist. I am merely lonely, and looking for those like me. Those who understand. Tiny souls trying to prove to ourselves and to the world that we can and will succeed… even as we come to understand that success will require a strength we’re not sure we have.

The toaster oven buzzes and I turn away. Don’t think that way. You do have it — just focus. I walk into the kitchen, and hear the pizza rolls sizzling in their little glass prison. I open the door and behold thirten deformed rolls, little doughy monsters with cheese dripping out and hanging down between the metal tines. Carefully sliding the rack halfway out of the oven, I reach in and grasp each roll gingerly between my thumb and forefinger, acutely aware of the instant half a lifetime ago when I accidentally lifted my hand too high, scorching my knuckles as they made contact with a blazing heating tube. Now, I carefully drop each pizza roll into a blue disposable plastic bowl, and as the gooey cheese coalesces into a little orange puddle on the bottom, I try not to realize that it is almost 4 a.m., and my last Corporations class of the semester starts in just five hours, and I don’t know anything about that topic either.