2 Moments in the Life of the Artist

1. I picked up a new National Geographic a week ago and was struck at what a pale imitation the magazine had become of the Geographic of my early youth. It's thinner, filled with yet more advertisements, and (oddest of all) they aren't even using the same paper they've used for ages. The older Geographics had heavy and glossy pages, which for some reason always had a thick, 'oily' smell to them. It wasn't pleasant on its own, but I'd grown to link the images of fantastic locales and exotic rituals with that smell, and this lightweight, flimsy usurper felt somewhat the lesser without it.

2. Today was a physics lab. In the middle of the tedium, I suddenly realized that this would probably be my professional fate, should I stay the couse of astrophysics. I mean, I love science for the "wow!"s and the "eureka" moments, but it's unrealistic to expect very many of those at all in the course of a lifetime. As if from a mental Magic 8-Ball, the phrase "God, I fucking hate math" drifted up, and settled right behind my eyes, blocking out the error propagation work. Already I feel the pull of other majors... that's cool. I'm probably going to grow old in college.

The Drum Corps Entry

A little more than a month ago, I was in Madison, Wisconsin. At this time, we were basically past the rehearsal phase of the season. Ahead of us lay only two performances: Semis, and Finals. In 48 hours, the season would be over. So here we are in the present, and that month has rushed by- a month of decompression, a month of acclimatization, a month of contrast. As finals week came to a close, I often thought about how I could summarize this whirlwind activity and give some insight into my summer away. Maybe my thoughts are in order now.

The vast majority of you who will read this (if I can even assume that anyone will) didn't do drum corps, or maybe didn't even do marching band. From the outside looking in, it's a bizarre niche activity, with little more prestige and yet less recognition than marching band. If I tried to explain it to you, that's where I'd have to start. The dreaded phrase every member of drum corps has to utter: "Well, it's kind of like marching band, except..." And maybe, if we were lucky, we'd get you to watch one in action. Maybe you'd be excited and impressed. Maybe you wouldn't be.

Even then, that's not the issue. Saying that drum corps is about putting on a costume, and running around on a field while playing music (even if that aspect of it was cool) is like saying that being Catholic is about having crackers and wine at church. Four years ago, when I first joined the Academy, that was basically my view: 'How cool, I'd love to perform a show like that.' And yes, doing so is pretty neat. But what keeps me coming back onto that field is what I didn't think about at all.

Past the external stuff, what the fans and outsiders see, my drum corps experience was like a gigantic rock tumbler. Everything I experienced, from the horrific weather, the complete lack of privacy, the minimal down-time and even more minimal sleep, to the 12 or more hours of rehearsal a day, was obviously something I wouldn't want to or couldn't do on my own. Drum corps, though, forces them all upon you simultaneously, and with few or no breaks. Individual responses varied- but the overall effect was the same. These stresses surround you like grit, and over time you find that it has rubbed the face of your personality clean. It's easy to put on a collected face and be how you want to be when you've got the down time, the sleep, the personal space to recharge. As those fall away, so too does the pretense. And as that happens, rough edges get exposed. I snapped at people, we all snapped at people, what difference does it make? It was all part of the larger challenge and the larger question: So how do I deal with this? Do I let it get to me or do I weather it?

And by the end of the season I had my answer. In a way that only members of large but close knit groups know, camaraderie had knitted our 135 strangers into a family. (cliche, I know. But sometimes you can't avoid using them.) I feel like this rock tumbler of a summer has revealed a bit more of it to me- and by it I mean IT, the big one. When your mannerisms and affectations start to fall by the wayside, and fatigue and irritation become ignorable, it's as if the crap has been rubbed off- you become the best part of yourself. When the age outs addressed us, it was lucky coincidence that the sun was setting, haloing them and bathing all of us in gold. Even without the dramatic lighting, it was clear that my friends looked different, triumphant, more alive. All that's left, after that summer of sweat, bus rides, frustration and hysteria, was the work ethic, the kindness, the excitement for the performances left.

The contrast between that ecstatic moment and the 'real world' is staggering. After you leave that place with a well-defined goal, an extensive and supportive net of allies, and that amazing drive for excellence, it's kind of hard to get excited about the universe of traffic and parking structures, sub-par fast food, and wild, untamed mediocrity. It almost seems like outside works in the exact opposite way- it's designed to push you into a shell, to build up cynicism and plausible deniability, to encourage superficiality. But my invincible summer isn't a phase that's been replaced by the 'real world', it's a truth that I (and anyone whose experience has led them to the same place, drum corps or not) can carry with me forever.

In.Trance.It

My apartment complex was decimated on Monday by the freak storm that blew in that night- when I went outside after it had cleared, several of the massive and old pine trees that lined our courtyard had toppled over into people's balconies, onto the walls, and across the sidewalks. Terra cotta roof tiles had shattered and lay in bits on our steps, and leaves and branches littered every available surface. Not wanting to miss the rare phenomenon of water in Arizona, I took my Ipod and went for a jog around the neighborhood.

The combination of the music and my surroundings was absolutely wonderful. In the same way that repeated listening can reveal a piece's structure and motives, the night-time panorama of my drowned complex seemed to imbue the music with a special and different meaning, one that I hadn't noticed before. Likewise, the completely mundane sights of my jog to ASU and back became electric and surreal in this strange new context.

On that note, I've taken to wearing sunglasses and earbuds around campus- and I've noticed a similar feeling of surreality. Maybe it's because I've never really done it before, but it feels pleasantly removed from the constant rush of passerby. Is it a good thing? Should my day be hermetically sealed for my protection?

On your way between classes, note that at least half of the students in transit are equipped similarly- some even go so far as to have one ear shoved into a cell phone and the earbud of an Ipod jammed into the other. Garlanded across their bodies, these devices become a sort of secondary organ system, providing the modern college student with every sense and ability that Mother Nature peskily forgot to disperse. How much further do we have to stretch to call ourselves cyborgs?

decompression

Placeholder Entry


Point the First: Watch this space for a wrap-up of the drum corps 2006 season. May take an awful amount of time.



Point the Second: ASU Marching Band Camp


Completely Random Quote, Having Nothing to Do with Point the Second:

There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn.
Albert Camus

Another free day, another update.

We returned yesterday from the 5 day Eagar sojourn, and things are looking up for the show. We've hit that point in the season when everyone starts getting their gig together, and so running through the show is more about performing and having fun than it is constantly worrying whether or not the whole thing holds together. Socially, it was a good run too. I've met a lot of interesting folk, and got to see new sides of some that I already knew.
It's funny, being in drum corps is like being part of a secret underworld- one where you only associate with a relatively small group of people, constantly working towards one single-minded goal, and you are cut off from the concerns of the 'real world' and outside society. Today it was more apparent than ever, coming back into a world of fast food restaurants, traffic, and boredom after rehearsing and working out like mad. It's funny how much emphasis and effort we throw into this activity, when it's totally irrelevant and unbeknownst to 98% of everyone else. Maybe I can put a finer point on exactly why it's such a big part of our lives in spite of this when I have a chance to write more...or when my brain's not fried.

"The Housatonic At Stockbridge" may be the most moving piece of music in the world. But only the orchestral version.

Everything in its right place

So I definitely would like to retract everything negative I had to say about the drum corps season. Like magic, and right on schedule, all confusion and frustration has sublimated. And now, the less opaque version.

We just got back from the first leg of tour (down Southern California way) and are firmly in the lead of Div II, with a score of 79.00. As far as pure rehearsal days go, we are basically halfway done, with the most concentrated stretch of improvement on our doorstep. Tomorrow, we leave for the Eager Dome, and will be rehearsing like mad until July 4th. According to 05 members, it's the turning point of the season, where the clouds of tickery part, and a glimpse of the final product first becomes apparent. From the improvement we've made over this first weekend, I already am excited to see where this next camp takes us.

Random thought: On thursday night, we were supposed to write 'thank you letters' to staff members of the corps. Seeing as how I count two of them in my list of IMPORTANT ROLE MODELS, I was pretty eager to take advantage of this time. In retrospect, though, I said exactly what I didn't want to say in both of them, and covered little to nothing of what I actually wanted to. I don't know why this happened, and even worse, I wonder if I completely avoid the point all too often and am just now noticing it. Maybe you, dear blog-reader, have noticed this already.

GYORGY LIGETI

1923-2006

Season's Edge

I don't know what I've gotten myself into, for the third time. Yeah, it's that time of year again, the point at which summer ends, and the drum corps season begins. In a sense I don't know why I'm writing this entry, for as my friend Mr. Ryan Gaumont knows, the activity sounds pretty damn harsh and pointless to the uninitiated. Yeah, I'm going to be out in the AZ sun from 9 in the morning to 10 at night. Yeah, I'm going to be sleeping on high school gym floors for weeks at a time. And yes, dear reader, after tour starts I won't be showering alone until mid-August. It's easy to get pessimistic when you look at it that way. Believe me, I do it each year. So why did I come back? What is it that draws me back onto a field where I've snapped at people, sworn at the staff under my breath (and over it, periodically), sweated out gallons of water and more often than not felt miserable?

For this year, I don't know yet. But I will. Maybe the correct term is "morbid anticipation."

Banal Entry No. 1

It's lucky for all involved that the whiny and overlong draft of the "wrapping up the year" entry turned out to be completely useless. So instead of that, I'll hit up some of the things that have been going on recently:

Firstly, I got a job working at my dad's warehouse in central Phoenix, loading and unloading tires all day. Yeah, it's the first manual labor position I've held, but hopefully the last too. A welcome surprise: The workers at the warehouse are the nicest guys in the world, and I fit in fast with my residual knowledge of Spanish.

Secondly, I'm moved into my apartment with Brett Farias and having a blast so far. It's a nice change all around and a ton closer to ASU. Everything is falling into place for a really great summer.

and finally, I won't have to beg and plead for my scholarship! I got the GPA and am quite relieved in general. I had no idea it was such a big weight until that worry burden was lifted.


Now that some of this stuff has cleared, I have a good two weeks till everydays begin to get my new room in order, get back to writing music, and connect with good friends both new and old. Today is a good day.

As the year draws to a close

Spent the night studying for the Calc II final. Not particularly optimistic, but we'll see what happens. After Monday, school will be finished, and I'll have some sort of rumination about the first year of college to share. As a matter of fact, this whole entry is essentially a placeholder- expect something of substance to replace this drivel shortly. On the plate for these next few days (maybe less one or two depending on the charms of fatigue) : The previously-mentioned death final, slightly more than an hour away, the final essay for a devilish incarnation of the Human Event, training at the new job, the final exam in Astronomy, and an Academy rehearsal. Oh, this weekend also starts the (hopefully not) tedious and horrible process of moving all of my junk from one apartment to the other. More on that later as well, lots of things to discuss in detail but very little brainpower allocated to do so right now. Hysteria is setting in and I am suddenly unconcerned about everything!

The Universe: Smaller than Previously Thought

It begins with a tiny flash of light.


Not that there's anything for the light to shine upon- or anywhere to go, for that matter. This tiny point, rapidly expanding, is all that is. In seconds it's become vaster than the solar system, in hours bigger than the Galaxy. This space is instantly filled with a roiling plasma of free particles, the energy of that first flash curdled into the beginnings of matter. Some 400,000 years later, the flash is still echoing around the much bigger universe, and the plasma has cooled into hydrogen and a smattering of helium gas.
As uncountable centuries pass, tiny impurities in the cosmic oyster force the clouds of gas to accrete into vast loops and clumps, the progenitors to what we now call galactic superclusters. As the billenia tick forward, and the clumps become ever more dense, a minor miracle happens.
For the first time since THE flash, light is streaming out into the universe. Some of this hyrdrogen gas has gotten so dense it's actually collapsed in on itself under its own gravity. What now? It's so hot it's actually fusing into helium, and onward to carbon, and yet further. This first star (even though it was probably thousands of solar masses) is only a feeble herald of the electric wonder of the galaxies, which inevitably follow. To an outside observer, our universe is now a much different place. Where pitch black clouds once silently drifted, vast globs and spirals of light drape and swirl.
The first supermassive stars continue the trend toward the heavier elements. As they end their remarkably short and violent lives, they immolate thousands of lightyears with deadly radiation and high energy particles. Like a forest fire, though, this death lays the seeds of new life. The shockwave from the blast generates vast new areas of starbirth, but with an interesting new twist. The high energy particles shooting out into the universe have slammed into each other on their way out, forming yet heavier elements and enriching the once-bland clouds of hydrogen and helium.
Another miracle! Eventually enough of these vast stellar deaths have occurred to enrich a great deal of every galaxy (and thusly the next generation of stars) with heavier, more complex elements . This new stellar crop produces something wholly remarkable- the first planets.
Many of these planets will never produce anything worthy of remark. Too many will be born in the hearts of galaxies, waiting to be scoured by a burst of gamma ray light. Too many will be born with a larger gas-giant planet in a close orbit- slinging comets in their direction every few million years, sterilizing the surface each time. Some will simply be too poor in crucial elements like silicon or carbon, which could concievably form the bases for complex organisms. But at least one is none of these things.
And while it may seem like this particular world is favored somehow, it has a fair share of hardships. Early on, a body the size of Mars will crash into this world, nearly destroying it and launching up a cloud of debris that will eventually form a moon (or if you prefer, The Moon.) Some complex organic molecules do manage to form on the surface, though, and they quickly replicate themselves much as crystals spread through solution. Unlike crystals, though, there is a large potential for an error in the process- a potential for mutation. Whole families of the molecules pop up, differentiating and competing in the fetid sludge of our 'lucky' planet. Time passes...
...and it would hardly do to call them molecules now. It's life, and it's in the skies, lumbering along the ground, and slithering through the oceans. Another bump in the road! An unfortunate asteroid, or possibly a comet, passes too close to the planet in question, and plunges into the atmosphere. It could have easily stopped there....but it didn't. Life, threatened, responded to the new challenge with a bewildering new variety of forms: faster, smarter and far more adapted to the new climate. Let's call them mammals. Time passes...
and they've progressed toward something we can call 'sentience.' In a remarkably short time, the sludge of the oceans has risen onto two feet and can haltingly concieve of a self- scrawled onto the cave walls. An ice age! Still more hardship. For our warm-blooded heroes, this could easily have been the end. Fortunately, though, these fairly complex mammals manage to develop cultures, and eventually hit upon the idea of symbolic representation- ideas become spoken words, which become written words. The crude cave sketches are merely a shadow of the immediate flourishing of thought under the mammals, and yet things are still hard.
They war, and disease is always ready to end the lives of the unwary. Most of them live either in hunter-gatherer squalor, or under tyranny. Miraculously, though, some are able to see beyond the limitless misery and avoid the traps of life, and begin to surmise their birthright. The inconcievably vast cradle that birthed them, the universe itself, is no longer a dome over the village. As the short centuries fly by, they develop increasingly accurate models of their world- moving inexorably closer to truth.
Using their languages and technologies, they are able to pass these ideas from parent to child, from teacher to student, from television studio to entire nation. The abstract world of ideas bursts forth, and surrounds the entirety of the planet with cables, antennae, and satellites. Things really have never been better.
Whole institutions are formed as conduits to this abstracted world, palaces built in honor of education. In the course of her tenantry at one of these institutions, imagine that one of them registers for a 'class' designed solely to impart knowledge of the universe onto the students. She slogs through weeks of basic information, things she's heard since grade school. Finally the transcendental peeks through- the class has moved onward to honest-to-god cosmology, and this one particular tiny bit of the universe, our heroine, is presented with the place of her ultimate origin. And yet after all that, things still aren't that easy. Our heroine could easily be distracted by everyday life, or friends. This doesn't happen though, and one particular day in class she feels a bit of resonance with an idea up for discussion- the very expansion of the universe we live in. Her curiosity overwhelms the social pressure to stay quiet and listen- she raises her hand.

"What does the expanding universe mean to us today? How will it impact our lives at all?"

"Well, because it's expanding, the universe will tend to get larger."

And just like that, it's over. The professor has moved on, and our heroine may or may not feel the need to investigate further.


What have I been getting at? In my opinion, the story of the universe is pretty much one of the most awe-inspiring and mindbending things I've ever been confronted with. I can't see how you could get a damn DOCTORATE in astronomy and not feel the same way. Yet somehow, this amazing legacy of how we got here hasn't been presented as anything but horrifyingly dull and boring. Every time anyone actually got interested enough in the material to raise their hand and ask a question in front of a huge lecture class, our loving professor answered the question by either repeating it without a question mark, or giving an answer so simplified and dull it verged on falsehood.
I've wanted to be a nanotechnologist, an author, and a composer. For now, I want to be a physicist- and come hell or high water, if I teach an introductory class like this, you can be damn sure that my students get an idea of how absolutely amazing the universe actually IS.

People are Strange

Issues:

Yesterday, my wallet was temporarily ( got it back 10 min later from the parking lot) stolen. Luckily I still have my driver's license, Sun card and what not, but it ended up bugging the crap out of me. I can't imagine what a full blown robbery would be like.... I remember when it happened to my grandparents, their paranoia and that lingering uneasy feeling, almost nausea. As much as I'm indignant about it, though, it could be worse.

If I don't get my math grade up, that scholarship is going bye bye really fast. I'm doing a damn sight better than I thought in AST 112, but I'm doing a letter grade (and a half....) worse that I thought I was in Calc II. Let's just hope that either the grade fairies smile upon me or the scholarship appeal fairies do, because if the worst alternative comes to pass, I'm going to go spiraling into debt. Wheeee, I'm pretty much terrified. Despite this black spot, all the other classes are doing quite, quite well.

Also, happy birthday Eric.

First Post/Surreal Morning

Being a pretty materialistic guy, I don't tend to ascribe deeper meanings to the stuff happening around me. This morning though, was an exception. In the space of about ten minutes, I had five or so closely-spaced incidents that hinted, in some intuitive way, at a collision or crash in my future. I was narrowly dodging bicyclists, seemingly blind pedestrians, and randomly opening doors. Oddest of all, I caught a glimpse of my own reflection in a window just as it passed "behind" one of the supporting columns between glass panes, creating the momentary and irrational (but no less striking) illusion of my unwitting face hurtling headlong into a large steel pole.

Was the universe trying to tell me something? I doubt it. Had I immediately gotten into my car and sped home, my chances of dying on the freeway were probably just as high as they ever were. Still, as I continued with the morning, the unwelcome and uncommon feeling of an omen loomed over my every move.

The whole experience was pretty out of the ordinary, even though nothing that unusual happened this morning. Where do the feelings of reality/surreality originate from? Maybe it's all the astronomy stuff that I've been thinking about lately but the very idea that we can find anything "commonplace" at all is pretty damned amazing. After all, it's not like the universe or 'real life' were specifically built to be comprehendable by some outside force. I don't know. Maybe I'm thinking about this too much.

Reading the last quasi-paragraph, I ask myself: why a blog again? (I also ask: Why call it a blog? That's a stupid word.) Well, to answer these questions that no one's asking, I guess I've outgrown a Xanga, and don't want a journal totally dependent on Myspace. I really do enjoy writing, and putting things down in words always helps me think about them a bit more clearly. Maybe dealing with the events of the day consciously here can make up for not dealing with them while asleep. It's worth a shot.

Expect this kind of stream-of-consciousness rambling, and probably a lot of boring-ass fuss about music. Don't expect a trite photo-blog, or better yet, those fucking online quizzes that tell you what kind of muffin you'd be or the character from Silver Spoons that you resemble the most.

Here goes nothing again...