C'mon

I went to a lunch time concert at the sonic arts center today and I must say, it was a little twilight zone. Solo percussion/electronic composition. I am going to try to explain to you the horrors of what I experienced.  First however, I must describe for you the people who were in attendance of this concert. It was mostly a bunch of Sonic Art students who, collectively, look like a bunch of people who wanted to grow up and be in a rock band, but their parents made them go to school instead. There are enough dreadlocks in the room to create a raft on which I could sail back to the US. Most of the skinny jeans in the room are worn by emaciated men. I am not trying to throw judgment down on them and their "look", but it really looked about as cliche as you could get. But back to the performance.

Our performer walks onstage, looking like someone who never quite left high school. He is in need of a good haircut, although I don't think even the best Aunt Julia haircut could salvage his appearance. The first piece was solo percussion, which in all honesty bores the heck out of me. One guy standing on stage beating different percussive instruments and varying rhythms with the obscurity of any contemporary piece. He was really into it but let's be honest, you can only amuse yourself for so long with the use of a woodblock, snare, and bass drum. Oh, my bad, I forgot the bongos. How could I forget the Bongos - the highlight instrument of the piece. Then the second piece. It was truly a masterpiece of new age nonsense. He came out complete with a microphone. Sadly, his hair was so overgrown that a good five minutes were spent getting the mic to lay just right. His head is now the shape of an octopus. As he played, he whispered french to the audience. Really obscure words in french. Not complete sentences, just words. I almost laughed out loud but then realized that all of the other sonic arts students were deeply invested in the piece. This piece involved a few more instruments, including the gong and triangle. Then combine that with the bad sound effects of a poorly made science fiction movie. It was a sight to see. The third and final piece was equipped with a movie presentation that he accompanied with even more artistic flair. It was very, very twilight zone, with hints toward the middle eastern tensions. And chanting. And really bad special effects. There was this image of someone kneeling in prayer over and over again. And flames. With some sparkles that floated across the scene. I am not kidding about the twilight zone thing, there really was the spiral that is at the beginning of every episode. It was very similar to the scene in "She's All That" (oh, come one, don't even pretend you haven't seen it) where Freddie Prince Jr. goes to see her performance art show. And every time this guy finished a piece he paused dramatically before waving his arms in a slow motion arc, and then dropping them to his sides. You could tell that it was a very emotional moment for him.

To top it all off, my cell phone kept going off. I recently got a new pay-as-you-go phone for the trip and I don't quite know how to work it yet. I don't know how to turn it off. But I thought to myself, who is going to want to get in touch with me. Well apparently everyone. I became the most popular person in the room. And consequently the worst person in the room as other sonic art students judged me for not turning off my phone. Which is actually a huge pet peeve of mine - people who can't understand the concert etiquette of turning off their phone for concerts. As if they are so important that they can't bare to turn off their phone. I hate those people. Do they not realize that every time they use their phone during the concert - people know?! Think about it, all these people are sitting in a dark theater and suddenly their is a blue light shining from the audience. It is not as if the audience thinks their is an alien abduction occurring in the auditorium - they know! Then there are the people who talk straight through the concerts. Yes, I do realize that this is a cultural event but guess what, it is not about the culture of YOUR life. Don't you people realize that some of us actually go to concerts for the music? I know it is a novel concept, but some of us like to think that music is important and should be appreciated. How would you like it if I came to your birthday party and then blew out the candles on your birthday cake. In the middle of the song, just walked up and blew out the candles. Well that is what you are doing when you talk through concerts and use your cell phones during them, you are blowing out my metaphorical birthday candles. Now I will never get my birthday wish. And it is your fault. But this time, I was the enemy. I blew out those birthday candles.I am so ashamed. 

On the bright side, I may learn to scuba dive while I am here! In Ireland....where it is really cold. Dang, maybe that was not a good idea. 

Kelsey

Be True to Your School

First day of class. My goodness. How can I possibly find a way to describe the gloriousness.


Yesterday was my first music course - Repertory A, or just plain old music history. It is taught by a variety of professors - no really, close to eight people - and one of them happens to be my advisor; Dr. Aiden Thomson. he is what everyone imagines a music professor to look like. He has an air of pompous dignity to him, which is thrown off by the fact that he is dressed like a disgruntled school boy forced to wear the clothes picked out by his mother. He walks in, one side of his button down shirt untucked, and immediately starts to pass out our syllabus. The thing is huge and in very explicit detail. But that does not stop him from going into even more detail. He is the kind of professor who uses far too many words in his sentences and rambles occasionally, giving sarcastic anecdotes that only a handful of students will understand anyway. He pauses a lot to look at his notes, while mentioning that he has a terrible memory and sometimes clucks under his breath, steepling his fingers together in thought as he paces from one side of the room to the other. The sight of him almost makes you giggle, but you don't dare because he is so endearingly awkward that you can't help but love him.


The class itself seems very intense and I am starting to realize how amazing this year is going to be. I am completely surrounded my music. I will not be taking any other classes and I will have no time to engage in any other subjects. Heaven. I am now a member of the Music Society at Queen's. And later today I am auditioning for the Chamber Choir. Oh, did I mention that I am in the Jazz Band? I am so very happy. People look a little worried as they see me walk down the street, my smile is so big it tends to give people the wrong idea. I feel like the cat who has finally caught the canary. And yesterday I had the most wonderful practice I have had in a long time. I was on a music high after my class and strolled down to the practice rooms for some inspiration. I went through almost everything I know, or remember, or have sung at one time. I haven't had such fun in a long time. And then, with five minutes left in my lesson, I rediscovered a piece that has everything in it that one dreams of singing. I must credit Mrs. Whitney for introducing me to this piece, thank you so much. It is by Berlioz - L'Absence. I love it. It fills my voice so beautifully that I am usually left breathless at the end of the piece. Yesterday was a good day for my voice, I was on top of my game and the music was soaring out of me. It was the perfect end to a perfect day. I left their floating on musical clouds and went home - to finish icing a cake.


Let me explain, today is Chris' birthday, one of my housemates. And we thought it would be a wonderful thing to celebrate into his birthday. So I baked a cake and iced it and put the German equivalent of "Happy Birthday!" on it, which by the way is a huge phrase. It barely fit on the cake and I had to work to make sure the exclamation point didn't fall off the cake. But it was worth it. A beautiful cake was made and there was a banner and even some party hats. At midnight we all got together and sang to him. Of course, due to large number of very sensitive fire alarms in our house, we only lit one candle and moved the cake and guests outside while we sang to him. It was quite a bonding moment for the whole house - all of us standing outside in the cold singing Happy Birthday and thoroughly confusing the drunkards walking by the house. Then we rushed back in for the cake. It was quite good, if I do say so myself. But the Happy Birthday banner kept falling down every five minutes because it is very hard to attach to the wall, even after we used an entire roll of tape and this blue tack stuff. I don't know who enjoyed the "party" more, the birthday boy or the party planners. All the Germans tried to teach me the German birthday song. It is not what you think. It is long - there are seriously four verses. It goes on forever! Regardless, it was a wonderful day. I only hope that enthusiasm for birthdays remains constant through the entire year. I can see everyone on the final birthday - which I believe is my own - wishing they never agreed to this birthday nonsense.


Performance 2 class today!

Kelsey
P.S. What the devil is wrong with this font thingy - I can't figure it out!!!

Magical Mystery Tour

There are things here in Ireland which have become mysteries to me - little things that you would never expect to trouble you. 

Take, for instance, phone numbers. For all of us living in the Americas, phone numbers have a wonderful rhythm to them. A simple pattern that makes you sure that you have all the numbers, in the right order, with all the hyphens in the correct place. When you ask someone for their number, it should go something like "five, five, five", pause, "one, two three", pause, "zero, zero, four, five". Simple. Of course, occasionally you get someone who is unfamiliar with the usual number etiquette, and they with try and finish the phone number with an extra pause. Example : "zero, zero", pause, "forty-five". Acceptable, but truly a faux pas in my mind. Well, here in Ireland, there is no such etiquette. There are so many numbers that the usual pattern does not work and you end up with five numbers with no place to go. Where do I put them? Should I say them all at once at the end? Or should I put a few estranged number out in front, as though awaiting execution? I have no idea. God forbid someone ask me for my number - I wouldn't know how to respond! And then if you have an international phone there is an odd code that goes in front of it. I end up saying my phone number in a really obscure way, with three numbers at a time, then maybe four, follower by five and one final number. All said somewhat cautiously, in case they are Irish and are silently judging me for being a newcomer and not knowing the unspoken number code. There has to be one - how else would they exchange numbers. You can't mean to tell me it is all willy-nilly with numbers here. There must be a system! I find myself listening in on conversations, trying to see if they will exchange numbers in the hopes that I will find a discernible rhythm. Of course, then I end up looking like a creepy stalker and that never goes well. I pray that some local will come up to me and impart wisdom upon my lost soul.

Another mystery is addresses. Again, something thought of as simple. Why, I don't even remember learning how to address a letter - it was just common knowledge I suppose. But here across the Atlantic it has become a daily trial. The big mystery is the postal code. I can't seem to find it. No really, I don't know if there is one in my address. What I am assuming is the postal code, if it could be considered that, has letters in it mixed in with the numbers. Letters!!! Which makes me think that it isn't the postal code at all. And if it isn't, what is? Also, when filling out a form that requires an address; what do I put? I have got the road down. But then it gets confusing. Belfast - yes that would be the city, Northern Ireland - wait, is that the equivalent to the state, or is it the country?If it is the country where should I put it?, United Kingdom - okay, so that must be the country....or is it? I know I have to include it somewhere on the letter, perhaps I should just add it at the end after the postal code. Wait, wait - where is the postal code?! Is it that thing with letters or does that go with the road part? When did writing an address get so confusing? And then there are the mail boxes. They look like giant, red fire hydrants. I don't want to put my mail in there, it might prevent the Irish firemen from doing their job! I walked past one three times because I didn't know it was the mail box. Then, when the postal worker told me that those "red hydrants" were in fact the mail boxes, I walked around it a few times just to be sure he wasn't fooling me. I did end up mailing the letters, but addressing them was such a hassle I don't know if they will even make it to the States.

And another thing. My knowledge tells me that big bugs don't thrive as well in the cold. The bugs are bigger in Florida than they are in Pennsylvania, it is just a fact. So, I naturally assumed that the same logic applyed to Ireland. It is cold here, so there should be no exceedingly large bugs. Lies. The spiders here are huge. I mean it, monster bugs. I found three fist sized spiders in our kitchen on one occasion. I killed the first one on sight, a knee jerk reaction, but was then chided by everyone else in the kitchen. How dare I kill that innocent insect. Innocent!!! The thing jumped out at me! It wrote its own death warrant. Then the second one was captured and taken outside to please the more animal friendly folks, yet when the third appeared and I began attempting to trap and release it back into the wild, unanimous cries burst forth from the kitchen to "Kill it! Kill it!!" Unfortunately, I was not quick enough and it escaped under the fridge. On the bright side, the spider sightings have cut down the kitchen crowd considerably.

These are the things that keep me up at night; phone numbers, addresses, and killer spiders. Welcome to Ireland.

Kelsey
P.S. Something very strange is going on with my computer and I realize that there are three different fonts going on in this post - Forgive me, I am trying to fix it.

The Beer Song

Happy Guinness Day!

No really, it is the birthday of the man who created Guinness. And here in Belfast, the party is in full swing. Or it is about to. Some are still recovering from last night. Which was no official holiday of any sort - just another night for some partying. I would love to tell everyone not to believe all that they hear about Ireland, how it is really a quiet peaceful town where one can go out and not be surrounded by drunkards. But I would be lying to you. Terrible, terrible lies. It is almost discouraging how much this town revolves around a drink. But, in their defense, school has not started just yet. Next week classes will begin and I am hoping that their arrival will put a stop to the day to day party - and the one that occurs in my house almost every night. Don't misunderstand me, I do enjoy to odd house party. But every night. In my living room. Drunk people. Everywhere. Although tonight, I am going to join the party. It is, after all, and momentous occasion that we must all commemorate.

And in regards to other momentous occasions - I have a joyous announcement. I have completed my audition for the school of music and they, graciously, have accepted my into the Performance 2 program. I will be preparing for a 30 minute recital at the end of the year. Aka - Kelsey kicked ass at her audition. Yeah. I am filled with a wonderful combination of excitement and nerves. I have a year to prepare. God I hope that is long enough!

In other news, I am still not an official student of Queen's University. They have sent me to the Financial Office, even though I have no tuition fees to pay. Tomorrow, they say, I will become a student. Well I certainly hope so because classes start next week!

Alas, I must go prepare to celebrate Guinness Day. At 2 o'clock they are serving a free lunch at the Botanic (a local pub) with live music. I wish I knew what the guy's name was.....

Happy Birthday Nameless Guinness Man

Kelsey

Werewolves of London

Here is a picture of my kitchen. It is quaint and filled with character, just as the rest of my house. It is filled with its own certain charms. The toilet clogs, lights don’t work, and the heat has mysteriously vanished. But it all adds to its mystique. My thirteen roommates and I seem to be getting along quite well and the house had become a place of enjoyment for all. The house seems to be populated mostly by Germans, which is working out quite nicely for me. I am learning a new phrase in German each day and in return I correct their English. So far, they have been more useful to me than I to them.

So much has happened in the last week during my “technical difficulties” that I am overwhelmed with information. There was my trip into the city center of Belfast – a harrowing tale involving a rampant search for an alarm clock and some friendly Spaniards – which proved to be more confusing and frightening than useful, then the Celli – a traditional Irish festivity, and my first pub visit – complete with live band and drunken patrons. I will spare you the details of the trip to the city center; it is really not that exciting. All you need to know is that 1) I am clearly not suited for city life, and 2) don’t naturally assume that people in Ireland are Irish. The Celli, however, is filled with many fun facts. For instance, being a vegetarian in Ireland is considerably harder than I expected. (Not in the sense that I can’t find anything to eat – there are many vegetarian options available, it is the general disgust among the locals at my food preference that makes me almost ashamed to say the “v-word”. ) A Celli is a wonderful gathering which involves traditional Irish stew and followed by even more traditional Irish dancing. Upon arrival to the venue, I was rushed toward the food by various faculty members. The staff members handing out steaming bowls of Irish stew were jolly and clearly enjoying watching people of various cultures attempt to participate in the Irish dancing. Warily, I explained my anti-meat preference. In a novel I would have described the scene with musicians screeching their music to a halt and various waiters dropping glasses in shock. If crickets could have chirped I am sure they would have. I was diverted to a much smaller table across the dance floor where one sour looking woman was dishing out the vegetarian option to some students; eyeing them as though they may give her some sort of toxic disease in which she would die by carrot attack. Not to be deterred, I sauntered over to the depressing booth to get my food. I politely asked for a bowl and she looked me over head to toe and then suspiciously said, “This is the no meat option. You do know that, don’t you love?” It took me a few minutes to assure her that I was in the right food line. After all that hard work, I was finally able to enjoy a bowl of (almost) traditional Irish stew. 

Then came the dancing. I am going to assume that everyone, if anyone, reading this blog is an acquaintance of mine. Therefore, you are all aware of my relationship with gravity. Now add Irish dancing to that mix. It was something I am glad that no one was able to see. I had a wonderful time – without a clue as to what I was doing. There was lots of jumping and kicking and clapping in some sort of Irish line dancing, with a ¾ beat (although I never really did catch up to the infamous meter) and some serious twirling. The twirling was made interesting by all of the Irish stew we had enjoyed previous to the jumping and kicking and twirling. I think the band had as much fun watching us dance as we did listening to them and trying to figure out when to move. I nearly injured my partner multiple times and very frequently ended up facing the completely wrong direction. But, fun was had by all. Except possibly that poor boy I wounded during the stomp, kick portion of the dance. 

After the Celli a few of us headed over to the “Egg”, a local pub just down the street of our house, for a drink. I fear I must say that I am a very responsible person and was not one to fall to the peer pressure to imbibe more than I thought necessary. But I did indulge. And had a blast. The live band provided much entertainment, as they played a wide selection of American songs. In fact, I believe they were all American songs. They started with Sweet Home Alabama. I am not kidding. I did not know how to react. It is not every day that you get to hear Sweet Home Alabama sung with an Irish twist. I was also confused at first because, as you may know, the tune to Sweet Home Alabama is identical to Werewolves of London. I thought surely that the band would play Werewolves of London and was then thoroughly disappointed that it was not the case. But the rest of the bar was enthused by the choice. They rose from their seats and, beers in hand, began a drunken sing along to Sweet Home Alabama. It is sight I will never forget.

Wish me luck!

Dummy Song

My computer is currently undergoing some...repairs? I am having trouble with my charger and converter and because of that I have been forced to use only the university computers until I get mine up and running. This means that my computer time is rather limited and I have not had a chance to fully update my escapades. But fear not, I should be up and running again this weekend and then will be able to fill the world in on this past week and all its excitement.

Leaving On A Jet Plane

Sitting in the Philadelphia airport I am prone to ponder the facts. Tomorrow I will be in Belfast, Northern Ireland. The adventure has begun.

It was a rather unassuming morning; for a very short period of time. I shared my final cup of capitalist coffee with my dogs before launching in a full blown craze. Get dressed, finish packing, wait - did you forget your toiletries?, where are my SHOES!, did I pack too much?, AHHHHH! I packed too much!, weigh the bags, THE BAGS ARE OVERWEIGHT!, not enough time for a small carry on, drive to airport, why do people drive so slow?, what should I take out of my bags?, ect., ect. When I finally reached my gate and boarded my plane, I was so exhausted that I feigned sleep so I would not have to talk to the delightfully chatty grandmother sitting next to me. And promptly felt like a disgrace of a human being. But my body refused to pay attention to that guilt and in a matter of seconds, we had not even left the gate, my feigned sleep was real sleep. A flight attendant woke me up when we landed. I thought we were still in Florida for a second and asked why there was no one on the plane. My sleepy mind naturally jumped to the conclusion that after all those years of making fun of the Tallahassee Regional Airport and their terrorist precautions, someone had finally attempted to bomb it. She was polite enough to explain that we had landed in Charlotte.


The flight to Philadelphia was equally entertaining. A lawyer, I am assuming she was a lawyer, refused to get off her phone while on the plane. The flight attendant stood right in front of her and repeatedly said, "Excuse me miss, you are not exempt from this rule. You need to get off your phone." And the woman gave her the "calm the f*** down" hand. Big mistake. She threatened to turn the plane around and forcibly remove her and the lovely phone from the airplane. At this point everyone sitting around this ornery woman is telling her to get off the phone. And I don't mean politely; the are yelling at her. It is a mob of people screaming at this woman to turn off the cellular device. I thought there was going to be a fight. The to French gentlemen sitting next to me took pictures and I believe a video. In two days she may be famous across youtube as "angry phone lady", or perhaps "lawyers on a plane". The climax came when she finally did get off her phone and told everybody to mind there own business. This huge guy sitting behind her told her to get off her high horse and I thought all hell was going to break loose. Fortunately, or unfortunately?, there was no fight and everyone calmed down.

My trip has mellowed out considerably since then. The US Airways Club has been very hospitable. The view from my seat is that of a spider creating his web and a Pittsburgh Stealers plane.

Tomorrow I will be in Belfast. Wish me luck.


Kelsey