Classical Music, Snow, Nyquil, and…alien sex?

Last night during the 100 Voices rehearsal I started to feel a little dizzy. Earlier in the day my fingers had not been obeying me, and my concentration had been kind of shot. Then, walking outside, my throat started to hurt.

Oh, crap.

Where were my guiding lights, #1 and #2 in the Music Department, and why had they not warned me of the sickness looming ahead by already having gone through it themselves?

I took some NyQuil hoping the symptoms would disappear overnight. Then I tried to update a few statuses on my ipod touch. I hardly ever take medicine, I usually stick to vitamins and herbs. My fingers were shaking, and I could barely hit the right letters. It took me about 15 minutes to log my food for the day, a feat which usually only takes about two minutes. There are some atrociously spelled wall posts on Facebook to prove it. It was kind of scary. I went to sleep.

This morning, rather than awaking fresh as a daisy, I instead had a throat on fire, glands swollen, and a lot of dizziness. I fought with myself for about twenty minutes, and then decided that no, I couldn’t go to school. Better to stay home and get better, rather than pushing myself all day, spreading it around, and getting worse. I emailed in my paper that was due at 9am, ate, read a little, and then went back to bed. I didn’t get up until 11:15, that’s how exhausted my body was.

I had a fever on and off (bundled up in a sweatshirt, in my blankets, and shivering in a seventy degree house.)

I listened to my Sondheim song over and over again for about three hours, not feeling up to actually singing it, hoping the notes would sink in by osmosis.

I watched the snow flurries come down and down and down all the way until about 4pm, when I fell asleep again.

I hadn’t quite finished my Chem homework, but got an email saying the class had been canceled due to inclement driving conditions and that the homework would now be due Friday.

I woke again at 5:30. I did some homework reading. I practiced my Bach and my Poulenc with a metronome for about an hour and a half. That left me feeling dizzy and weak again–the naptime energy had been sucked out.

Now I have to read Twelfth Night before bed. I don’t want to.

I cannot miss school tomorrow, it is lab day and I have an accompanist session for my flute. I hope that I am better.

At least the sore throat has subsided over the day. (But I’ve also been taking flu medicine so that could just be masking the symptoms.)


I would like to introduce you to a man who I might be in love with (at least for a day or two.)

Isn’t that the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen?

Basically he is singing about a girl on a green balcony, whose eyes smile at him, but whose finger always says “no”.

This is the lied my Music History paper was about. The paper wasn’t phenomenal, but I really enjoyed writing it. And watching this over and over again.


On a final note, I would like to formally complain about Katy Perry’s new single E.T. It dropped last week, and I heard it in its very first on-air play on KISS.

You all know I am into theatre of the  bizarre, and I like what I would call “concepts” (if they are really well done and meaningful) but this song is completely UNACCEPTABLE.

It is disgusting.

First the lyrics really stink (I mean come on…”Alien Sex! Alien Sex!”), the premise is dumb, and it is absurd for no point other than to shock. It is not art, it is cheap.

I am all about cheesy pop music, but I am not about selling out. I am not in support of spectacle for the sake of spectacle.

(For those of you who think pop music in general is selling out I COMPLETELY DISAGREE but that is another conversation.)

Another winning line: “I know a bar on Mars, where they drive spaceships instead of cars”.

And my personal favorite from the rap-chorus: “First I’mna disrobe you, then I’m gonna probe you.” Is that really necessary?

All of this, however, could be dismissed as Katy got stoned with Russell and decided this would be a good idea, and enlisted Kanye before it was too late, except for the following line.

“I wanna be a victim”.

I do not care if you are trying to intimate that you are a victim of an alien abduction. This, paired with the other lyrics, implies that you want Kanye the Alien to abuse you. What happened to your claims of being a “strong woman”?

There is a difference between liking certain things in the bedroom, and making a public statement that millions of men and women are going to be singing along to, without even thinking, and perhaps subconsciously buying into.

The worst part? This song is already on all the top playlists.

What do you think, am I overreacting to a whimsical little out-ga-ga Ga-ga trend, or am I at least somewhat justified?

What is your reaction to the song?

Even if nobody agrees with my interpretation of Katy’s lyrics, I don’t think you can deny that this song is absolutely ridiculous, and not in a good way.

Let me know what you think.

Now onto Shakespeare before bed. I could think of worse ways to end an ill night.




2 thoughts on “Classical Music, Snow, Nyquil, and…alien sex?

  1. I’m sooooo not a good little Christian girl anymore. Serious. Super for real serious. I’m a serious artiste now, not some gospel singer. See, look, I kissed a girl. And I liked it. All those old people don’t like me anymore, cause I’m too hip. See what a mature adult I am? Seriously. I have boobs. Big boobs. Super seriously big boobs that bounce and squish and stuff. I’m so adult and risque. Now I have cupcakes on my boobs. And my cupcake boobs are on fire. NOW MY CUPCAKES ARE EJACULATING ON YOUR GUMMY BEARS! I’m so hip, and avaunt garde like that cool indie film guy with the beard who’s probably all gay and stuff. But I’m not one of those good little disney girls because they’d never do something as deep and metaphorical as ejaculating boobies. Except for Miley Cyrus, she’s a little slut. LOOK AT ME I’M A SERIOUS ADULT ARTISTE DAMNIT! I’m not one of those uncool christian people! What the hell can I possibly still do to prove it to you people!?!?

    …Alright, fuck it. Alien sex. With a black person.

    Your move, dad.

Something to say?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s