So I hadn't been to Symphony rehearsals for over a week, due to... well, individual reasons, y'know. Each M/W/F I would have woken up just a little too late, or moved too slowly here or there, and then it became just too daunting a prospect to walk in late when I hadn't walked in at all the past five times, and I would resolve (again) to show up on time to the next rehearsal. One time, actually, I slunk guiltily off to the Union rather than pick my way around stands and chairs with all eyes on me, and I saw Evan! And Robbie! And their friend Linda. So we played frisbee until I thought I would faint of hunger, and I inhaled a sandwich from McAllister's without even tasting it, leavened bread or not. I maintain that it was okay, because one may break such a law to save a life, and I honestly believe I would have blacked out had I not eaten, and there was nothing kosher to hand.
(Speaking of kosher for Passover, Caitlin introduced me to tuna-salsa-cheese quesadillas. They make my life infinitely lovely.)
And then it was Friday the day before the final Symphony concert, and I showed up at the Wharton really only because I'd told my parents because I couldn't think of any plausible lies to stop them showing up to the concert on Saturday, so Aba drove me to rehearsal and said that he'd wait to see if Gregorian let me stay. I was early, even, and I crossed to the other side of backstage to find him setting up clear plastic sound-shields or something behind the wind section. I stood silently for what felt like minutes, just waiting for him to notice my presence, too terrified to make some sort of noise. I hadn't thought of anything to say; I had no excuses and no believeable lies, because I'd been attending Philharmonic regularly. Finally he turned around and saw me, at which point I concentrated on not visibly trembling.
But he was really nice- I stuttered something that made no sense about having dropped off the face of the earth for a while (really, why didn't I just go ahead and say that I'd been travelling by TARDIS? it would have sounded about as reasonable) but he just asked if I thought I would be comfortable enough with the music to play in the concert. Since I'd been expecting him to tell me that there was no way I was allowed to come within ten miles of the Wharton on Saturday, I just kind of looked bug-eyed and willed my feet not to run away just yet. "Why don't you try it today and see how it goes," he suggested kindly, and I thanked him profusely as I could manage while my feet were already running away. I'm sure I cut a rather cartoonish figure- feet blurring like wheels while my torso stretches behind to get in a last few words, before snapping forward to catch up. In any case, my feet had the right idea, because as soon as I was behind the shell I found myself damn near hyperventilating. My breath came in shuddery sobs all the way back to my case to call Aba and say that he could go, I would be allowed to stay.
The concert actually went well enough. I still really can't take The Silver Sword at all seriously (tra la trinkle, merrily winkle? what the hell?), Dona Nobis Pacem was not too terribly interesting, but I wasn't bored, and I think I faked well enough on the Wagner to pass muster. I often think learning to fake convincingly is one of the most useful things I have ever learned in seventeen years of violin.
Now the PHILHARMONIC concert- ohhhh, that was just pure joy.
Carlos told us that his family had come up from Kansas just to see him conduct, and of course I would have done my best anyway but it was nice to think that his family got to see a really good performance for that. And of course
Vladimir just carried the Rococco Variations, so yay, and then there was Dvorak 8th Symphony.
And New World, oh, I love you dearly, I do, and you will always hold a special place in my heart for being my first kind of official date, but DVORAK EIGHTH SYMPHONY. It's like two different Doctors. And I love the ninth symphony I do I do but EEEEEIIIIIGHT.
It went awesome,
and my solo went awesome,
and at the end when Jimenez took my hand and I stood up he kissed my hand. Kissed
like a knight would do to a lady.
I think the word I am looking for here is SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
I mean, if I've talked to you for like five minutes ever then you know I have such MAD FANGIRL HERO-WORSHIPFUL LOVE for Maestro Jimenez, who is forever my conductor and my king, and then he kissed my hand and Eema told me later that I looked as though I would just burst from happiness, because Dvorak
and it went awesome
and my solo
and RAPHAEL JIMENEZ KISSED MY HAND,
and I very nearly did. Burst from happiness, I mean.
So... yay. Yay, and yay, and even just thinking of it now like a fortnight later I am still going SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
inside my head.
Also I hugged Carlos Botero as I was leaving the stage, which is to say that I kind of glomped him, but can you blame me, it is Carlos Botero and he is awesome and I was so totally high on Good Concert.
Anyway. So after all my concerts I went to Yale to visit Paul, who was still coughing like he was dying of some terrible wasting lung disease, and spent my last days in New Haven. We actually managed to find a pretty walk, a nice tree-lined street with colorful, architecturally interesting houses. (I say like I know jack about architecture, but they were pretty and cool-looking and some of them had turrets and roofs that looked like you could climb on them.) And then at the top of the hill there was a lovely little park with a bench and to one side was the whole of Connecticut, and to the other side was the sunset, and it was just peaceful and the weather was cool and pleasant and it was just about as nice a send-off as one could hope to get, at least someone like me who visited for long weekends every few months for the past four years. Paul showed me some of season one Chuck, and an episode of Dollhouse, and I showed him the first two episodes of Merlin, and we watched about halfway through S2 of Buffy.
My love for any character played by Anthony Stewart Head continues epic. Perhaps I should worry about all these silver foxes I seem to be collecting in my Big Book o'Fictional Crushes, but I think as long as I do not go chasing them in anything resembling Real Life, I will be okay.
I spoke to many strangers over the weekend, like the CT limo driver on the way there, who was so very nice and friendly and I liked him, and people on planes and such who wanted to know just what was so hilarious about Post Captain
by Patrick C. O'Brian. Yes, it's book two of the Aubrey/Maturin series. But I love them! Stephen is oh, such a cellist and Jack is just such a violinist-
and oh, it is perfectly wonderful. sigh. Also I bought these cool solar-powered blinky keychains with names on, and because they didn't have "Leora" I bought Nicholas, Sam, Jack, and Christopher. And a second one of Nicholas, just because. ( If I want to destroy the mystery, then I could tell you that )
But I think it's more fun to let you all believe that I selected the names entirely at random, in a fit of pique at having my name left off once again. (The truth is that I just like to say "in a fit of pique." Okay, so I just like the word "pique." There's a Q in it. Words with a Q are cool. Don't judge me.)
You know, I am well aware that it is Not Going To Happen, Like, For Srs, but I think that thishttp://www.telegraph.co.uk/telegraph/multimedia/archive/00652/news-graphics-2007-_652218a.gif
really should be the new British flag. Aw, yeah. Sorry. Random tangent is random.
(...so I was just taking a reservation for someone in Ypsilanti and after I finished telling him everything there was kind of this long pause, so I said "do you have any other questions?" and he said "are you single?"
...ahahahahahaha really? Uh, really? uh. Well. Sure. I can take a compliment.)
I have received packages! many many packages, of lovely presents, presents that I paid for online but who is counting because they came in the mail, to me, all nicely wrapped, which makes them presents. There is a Mind The Gap doormat for my
doorway, an umbrella featuring the London skyline in sort of gray, dreary colors because it's England and it is always raining there, 'cause it's an island, a pair of dangly pearl earrings, and this really, really awesome pair of steampunky earrings made of watch parts and gears. THEY'RE STEAMPUNKY, YOU GUYS. YEAH. I keep wanting to write thank-you notes to the maker of my new steampunk earrings for the lovely gift, because she wrapped them up all pretty, but then I remember that I actually bought them, with money, and it is probably Not Done to be all grateful for the opportunity to pay money for shiny things.
Wanna know what actually was a shiny present, though?
Okay okay! EEEHEEHEEHEE. So I come back straight to the office from Connecticut, and of course I've been travelling all night long and had to shell out an extra hundred bucks for a taxi and lost the thirty dollars for my CT limo because I misread the time and missed it, stupid me, but I was okay and I got to work and I was working and Eema had left me her car keys so I could get back to my flat, so when I was done working I traipsed up to the fifth floor and looked for her car and did not see it. So I pressed the Unlock button, and the lights flashed on a gorgeous, bright bright robin's-egg-blue Taurus with a note on the dash that read titchadshi.
I have named her Sophie, which is short for Blue Sophia, which is like Blue Peter only not really at all, and I admit I may have been slightly influenced by Jack Aubrey's pretty little sloop. But that is okay. Eema was insistent that she is not really my
car, she is my parents' car that I am allowed to use, but that is okay too; Ophelia was Tamar's car that I was allowed to use and that did not make her any less mine for the months that I had her.
This is another thing that makes me all squeeful. A car! A pretty, pretty little
car! All for me! *massive grin*
Let me see. Other things that are good. Well, I watched the first season (only eight episodes in a season. Honestly, Britain, you and me, we gotta talk about this) of a show called Hotel Babylon, which I have decided that I like. I tried to watch several other British comedies, but I really cannot stand having a laugh track. It's just so... insulting. I do not need to be told when you have made a joke. If it is funny, I will laugh. But Hotel Babylon is just... yeah, I like shows about high-strung, resourceful characters who are running complex operations. I like shows about what goes on backstage. Slings & Arrows, for example, or hey, how about the Muppet Show? (Though I *wish* they didn't have a laugh track.) Anyway, I like Hotel Babylon and the characters interest me, even the ones I thought I would dislike, so good. Also I ship the main pairing, which is always nice, and I like that the main character learns from his mistakes, and that even if he is slow in coming to a decision, once he decides on a course of action, he follows through. Also he has what I believe are known as "bedroom eyes," and an accent like the Ninth Doctor's, so. Yeah.
Also saw a movie called Cat Ballou, which is a western, or a parody of westerns, but that does not matter because it is great, and involved Nat King Cole and Jane Fonda. I think this may be the first time I have actually had an ot5, but it is just something about outlaw bandits, I swear, that simply cannot be limited to monogamous pairings. It is at least ot3s, or nothing. Don't ask me. I don't make the rules.
Now may I talk about Star Trek?
NOW I MAY TALK ABOUT STAR TREK: MOVIE OF AWESOME.( spoilers and squeeage to follow. )
And now I cannot wipe the grin off my face. Ahhh, it is good to be a geek.
(Ooo hey, who's looking forward to the movie with Evil!Nine?)
Anyway. Must be getting home, making food. Sleeping. All that stuff.