I typed that title and then I remembered where I snagged the phrase: in Mating (one of my favorite books as I may have mentioned once or eleventy times), it's a fart euphemism, or more accurately, a fart response. As in "Ah, a report from the interior." This post may prove to be the internet equivalent of flatulence, but that's not really what I had in mind when I typed the phrase.
Mostly I wanted to provide an update on my weekend activities. I didn't get the thesis done. I did hack away at it, including deleting a bunch of beloved paragraphs that ultimately had nothing to do with anything, which is always important and difficult. And I wrote some new stuff. But it became apparent on my first read-through that this wasn't a one-weekend project. I need to keep working on it, and I will, now that my two-year stint of not working on it has ended. Can you believe that? The last save date on the file was in the spring of 2008. Actual years ago.
I'm getting a Doctor of Musical Arts, not a PhD, so the requirements for the paper are nowhere near what they are for a more academic dissertation. If you're getting a degree in music performance, performance is necessarily the bulk of your graduation requirement. So you do five recitals or their equivalent, and write a paper for which there seem to be no documented rules: it could be 30 pages or 100, scholarly or speculative, predicated on a faulty translation (this has happened), etc. This makes it all the more ridic that I'm not finished with the thing, especially since I never seriously entertained the illusion that my paper needs to contribute something to a body of scholarship.
Anyhoo. Since you asked, the paper is about a piece that was commissioned for me and which I performed SEVEN years ago. About half the paper is about Amy Lowell (the subject of the piece) and her poetry, and the other half is about our piece--the process and musical language. Whee!
I also did this over the weekend:
This was a planned endeavor, not thesis avoidance, so just put that idea out of your head. It's how I kicked off the weekend. I can see how people who start dyeing their hair or getting tattoos or whatever have a hard time stopping. The second my hair was dry I was like "MORE." This happened in the middle of the process, after I rinsed the bleach out:
Since I had to rinse in the sink or tub, I thought it would be a good idea to don some eye protection. I do work in health and safety, after all. Fortunately my swim goggles were close at hand.
I have been in a major frump slump lately (which the dye job was intended to partly address). I'm not sure what's triggering it, but I'm sure I haven't been getting enough exercise, so I started walking in the mornings before work. Y'all exercisers know that this does wonders for the disposition, but what you don't know if you don't live in the frozen north is that intentionally doing stuff outside helps you deal with being in the frozen north. Plus, you get to see your fellow hardy humans doing the same thing, and lots of dogs romping in the snow, which invariably cracks me up. I should probably have a video of dogs romping in snow that I can watch for daily pick-me-up purposes.
Also, it's pretty:
n.b.: this is a sunset, not a sunrise
Or I mean it can be, sometimes. This morning it was so gray-white that everything was the same color, and then the ice pellets came. But I went anyway. I mean, we live by a damn lake. It's a privilege to be five minutes from a shoreline with a walking path, especially one that is not overrun by ultra-fit hipsters in tech gear.
I have another post brewing about Friday Night Lights, but it'll have to wait.