I felt it was time to add a face to the words.
So here y'are!
Monday 28 November 2011
Thursday 17 November 2011
Uninteresting post number seven
I'm so tired.
It's coming up to Mocks Week. It's a pretty big event, some teachers say. Then others tell you not to stress out about it and the last remaining few scream into your ear canals that it is the most important thing ever and if you mess it up you mess your whole life up. Deciding which variety of teacher to listen to is really the difficult part.
It's coming up to crunch time for the school's production We Will Rock You. This means that staff of the music and drama department are particularly stressed out and unamused. I've been moaned at quite a few times already because of how terrible at dancing I am. I think they just realised quite how bad I am at it, and they're regretting putting me into the main dancers section in the first place. I tried to warn them, but now they've got me flailing around onstage doing something that vaguely resembles what the other dancers are doing. Why they chose me I shall never know. And not only do I have to publicly humiliate myself, but I have to try and sing extremely difficult harmonies whilst doing star jumps. STAR JUMPS. It's practically inhumane!
Trying to revise for my music mock is proving more difficult than I originally anticipated. Chopin is definitely the worst; I love the piece, I could listen to it for hours, but there's just so much to it to get your head around. Stupid ternary form, septuplet figures with acciaccatura, pedal motif, modulations from Db major to its enharmonic equivalent Csharp minor, chromatic notes, and smorzando. And that's only one of the 12 pieces. Try studying All Blues, with its pizzicato and front line and rhythm section and muting and brushes and head form and 12 bar blue and 4 bar riff, or Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad, with its equalisers and ghosting and vocal samples and loops and synthesisers and breakdowns and four on the floor, or Peripetie, with its atonal key and chromatic clashes and dissonance and klangfarbenmelodie and Hauptsimme and Nebenstimme, or And the Glory of the Lord, with its hemiolas and perfect and plagal cadences and its four motifs in soprano alto tenor and bass, or Mozart, with its sonata form and exposition development and recapitulation and diatonic harmonies and symmetrical characteristics and elaborate orchestration and allegro molto, or Skye Waulking Song, translated from 'Chuir M'athair Mise Dhan Taigh Charraideach', with its compound time signature and modal feel and missing dominant chord and gaelic lyrics and indecisive nature until verse 4, or Yiri, with its trills and balafons and djembes and call and response and ciclic pattern and hexatonic scale and lack of pulse and tremolos and rhythmic ostinati and heterophonic texture, or Grace, with its overdubbing and verse chorus structure and chromatic chords and dissonant harmonies and flange and compound time signature and backbeat and syncopation, or Electric Counterpoint, with its resultant melody and monophonic- polyphonic texture and note addition and crescendos and 12 guitars and ostinati and layering process, or Something's Coming, with its operetta and traditional orchestration and jazz based harmony and flattened seventh and syncopated rhythms and push rhythms and tritones, otherwise known as the diablos in musica, and I'm not even gonna go onto Rag Desh because technically it's three pieces, and IT'S ALMOST ENTIRELY IN ANOTHER LANGUAGE. So anyway. I'm not looking forward to my music mock.
It's coming up to Mocks Week. It's a pretty big event, some teachers say. Then others tell you not to stress out about it and the last remaining few scream into your ear canals that it is the most important thing ever and if you mess it up you mess your whole life up. Deciding which variety of teacher to listen to is really the difficult part.
It's coming up to crunch time for the school's production We Will Rock You. This means that staff of the music and drama department are particularly stressed out and unamused. I've been moaned at quite a few times already because of how terrible at dancing I am. I think they just realised quite how bad I am at it, and they're regretting putting me into the main dancers section in the first place. I tried to warn them, but now they've got me flailing around onstage doing something that vaguely resembles what the other dancers are doing. Why they chose me I shall never know. And not only do I have to publicly humiliate myself, but I have to try and sing extremely difficult harmonies whilst doing star jumps. STAR JUMPS. It's practically inhumane!
Trying to revise for my music mock is proving more difficult than I originally anticipated. Chopin is definitely the worst; I love the piece, I could listen to it for hours, but there's just so much to it to get your head around. Stupid ternary form, septuplet figures with acciaccatura, pedal motif, modulations from Db major to its enharmonic equivalent Csharp minor, chromatic notes, and smorzando. And that's only one of the 12 pieces. Try studying All Blues, with its pizzicato and front line and rhythm section and muting and brushes and head form and 12 bar blue and 4 bar riff, or Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad, with its equalisers and ghosting and vocal samples and loops and synthesisers and breakdowns and four on the floor, or Peripetie, with its atonal key and chromatic clashes and dissonance and klangfarbenmelodie and Hauptsimme and Nebenstimme, or And the Glory of the Lord, with its hemiolas and perfect and plagal cadences and its four motifs in soprano alto tenor and bass, or Mozart, with its sonata form and exposition development and recapitulation and diatonic harmonies and symmetrical characteristics and elaborate orchestration and allegro molto, or Skye Waulking Song, translated from 'Chuir M'athair Mise Dhan Taigh Charraideach', with its compound time signature and modal feel and missing dominant chord and gaelic lyrics and indecisive nature until verse 4, or Yiri, with its trills and balafons and djembes and call and response and ciclic pattern and hexatonic scale and lack of pulse and tremolos and rhythmic ostinati and heterophonic texture, or Grace, with its overdubbing and verse chorus structure and chromatic chords and dissonant harmonies and flange and compound time signature and backbeat and syncopation, or Electric Counterpoint, with its resultant melody and monophonic- polyphonic texture and note addition and crescendos and 12 guitars and ostinati and layering process, or Something's Coming, with its operetta and traditional orchestration and jazz based harmony and flattened seventh and syncopated rhythms and push rhythms and tritones, otherwise known as the diablos in musica, and I'm not even gonna go onto Rag Desh because technically it's three pieces, and IT'S ALMOST ENTIRELY IN ANOTHER LANGUAGE. So anyway. I'm not looking forward to my music mock.
Friday 11 November 2011
Uninteresting post number six
Hooray! Number six!
Well, it's finally the weekend. It's been a long gruelling week but we've made it through. And today is 11/11/11, which in itself is pretty cool. I'm now going to inform you exactly what happened to me, at 11:11 on the 11th of the 11th 2011. I'm not saying it's a great story. But I'm gonna tell you anyway cause that's how I roll.
Breaktime began at ten past eleven. I was in the library, supposedly doing Italian practice tests but actually researching the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, which seemed like a much more valuable way to spend an hour. I was there, with Jaina, Joel and Jess, the three J's. Jess is the only one of those three I know very well, and that's why I awkwardly tag along with them during my Italian lessons, making the three Js and one T. They're all very intelligent, very popular, socialites (excluding Joel) who would probably by referred to as the 'hipster' variety, if you were to label them. I get along very well with Jess; we share the same kind of sense of humour which means we both find each other hilarious. Jaina seems like a very nice person, but I've never got to know her all that well, and Joel.. well, Joel is a class of his own really. He doesn't understand people. And he's incredibly arrogant and not afraid to show it. I believe he once said to the teacher that gave him a detention: 'You can't punish me for my charisma!' But she did. I've spoken to him occasionally, and I wouldn't say I don't like him, but he is just one of those people who is academically clever, but not socially clever at all.
At ten past eleven they were all discussing meeting up and smoking cannabis, before the bell sounded and I was saved. I fled the library, anxious to get to the canteen before the hoards of year sevens completely blocked up the metro and made it impossible to get anywhere, ever. As I rushed along through the library, with Jess at my side, I kept checking my phone, waiting for that fateful moment when the clock would hit 11:11 for just minute. I barged through the door, still in a relative hurry, scurrying past people in my usual manner. I've been described as a mosquito, not because I'm an evil little parasite hopefully.
And then the moment happened. The phone in my hand read 11:11, there it was, four ones in a row. I stared at it, just to make sure. And then informed Jess that it was indeed 11:11. Her reaction was, no it's not. My phone still says 11:10. So technically, it wasn't her 11:11, but it was mine. I sped through the corridors, going down the stairs in a galloping motion and weaving between people, looking out for familiar faces. It was 11:11, and so I made a wish as I was going. My wish was, that I would have a good year. No billion pounds. No 30 mansions. No trip around the world. My wish was pretty modest, and that's the way I liked it. My humble little wish, that I wished at 11:11 11/11/11. I did craftily add 'and pass all my GCSEs' onto the end though.
That minute went by pretty quickly. By the end of it, I was lost in a stampede of children, crushed against a banister just innocently making my way to the canteen. Then it was 11:12, and it was all over. I said: 'Aww, the minutes up." And Jess replied with, "No it's not, it's still 11:11" which lead to more confusion.
So there you have it. Not just the longest blog post ever, but my story about my minute. Just one minute. But I won't ever see so many ones in the date every again, so, I thought I'd make a big deal about it.
Well, it's finally the weekend. It's been a long gruelling week but we've made it through. And today is 11/11/11, which in itself is pretty cool. I'm now going to inform you exactly what happened to me, at 11:11 on the 11th of the 11th 2011. I'm not saying it's a great story. But I'm gonna tell you anyway cause that's how I roll.
Breaktime began at ten past eleven. I was in the library, supposedly doing Italian practice tests but actually researching the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, which seemed like a much more valuable way to spend an hour. I was there, with Jaina, Joel and Jess, the three J's. Jess is the only one of those three I know very well, and that's why I awkwardly tag along with them during my Italian lessons, making the three Js and one T. They're all very intelligent, very popular, socialites (excluding Joel) who would probably by referred to as the 'hipster' variety, if you were to label them. I get along very well with Jess; we share the same kind of sense of humour which means we both find each other hilarious. Jaina seems like a very nice person, but I've never got to know her all that well, and Joel.. well, Joel is a class of his own really. He doesn't understand people. And he's incredibly arrogant and not afraid to show it. I believe he once said to the teacher that gave him a detention: 'You can't punish me for my charisma!' But she did. I've spoken to him occasionally, and I wouldn't say I don't like him, but he is just one of those people who is academically clever, but not socially clever at all.
At ten past eleven they were all discussing meeting up and smoking cannabis, before the bell sounded and I was saved. I fled the library, anxious to get to the canteen before the hoards of year sevens completely blocked up the metro and made it impossible to get anywhere, ever. As I rushed along through the library, with Jess at my side, I kept checking my phone, waiting for that fateful moment when the clock would hit 11:11 for just minute. I barged through the door, still in a relative hurry, scurrying past people in my usual manner. I've been described as a mosquito, not because I'm an evil little parasite hopefully.
And then the moment happened. The phone in my hand read 11:11, there it was, four ones in a row. I stared at it, just to make sure. And then informed Jess that it was indeed 11:11. Her reaction was, no it's not. My phone still says 11:10. So technically, it wasn't her 11:11, but it was mine. I sped through the corridors, going down the stairs in a galloping motion and weaving between people, looking out for familiar faces. It was 11:11, and so I made a wish as I was going. My wish was, that I would have a good year. No billion pounds. No 30 mansions. No trip around the world. My wish was pretty modest, and that's the way I liked it. My humble little wish, that I wished at 11:11 11/11/11. I did craftily add 'and pass all my GCSEs' onto the end though.
That minute went by pretty quickly. By the end of it, I was lost in a stampede of children, crushed against a banister just innocently making my way to the canteen. Then it was 11:12, and it was all over. I said: 'Aww, the minutes up." And Jess replied with, "No it's not, it's still 11:11" which lead to more confusion.
So there you have it. Not just the longest blog post ever, but my story about my minute. Just one minute. But I won't ever see so many ones in the date every again, so, I thought I'd make a big deal about it.
Wednesday 9 November 2011
Uninteresting post number five
Kablam. Here we are at number 5.
This week has been pretty eventful. And GCSEs have played the leading role thus far. Indeed, upon the approach of my science modules I am filled with varying emotions; I shift seamlessly between tired and grouchy Taylor, awake and a little too hyper Taylor, completely focused on revision Taylor, not focused at all on revision Taylor, seriously cba Taylor, motivated Taylor, panicked Taylor and the Taylor who would sooner perform trephining on her best friend than think about the upcoming exams.
Of course, everyone else is going through exactly the same thing. Except those extremely annoying people who don't do anything at all but still get the best grades possible. Those people seem to just cruise along effortlessly. Which isn't fair on all the tired, grouchy, awake, hyper, revising, not revising, cba, motivated, panicky trephining experts who have to behold their cruising.
Today was interesting for me. Have you ever been in one of those situations where you realise the person you trusted has completely thrown it back in your face? That happened. In short, I was pretty gutted to hear that the person I trusted most had told one of my other friends something that I would rather not be shared around. I'm not really sure how I feel about it right now, but I was pretty damn angry at first. It's funny how you feel like you're never going to forgive that person for their wrong-doings, but then you just calm down. And you kind of still want to be angry but you just can't be. It's your brain's way of pulling you back from the edge of that cliff, dangling over the swirling seas of insanity. Remember that metaphor? From post two I think? Well I just cleverly slipped it back in.
This week has been pretty eventful. And GCSEs have played the leading role thus far. Indeed, upon the approach of my science modules I am filled with varying emotions; I shift seamlessly between tired and grouchy Taylor, awake and a little too hyper Taylor, completely focused on revision Taylor, not focused at all on revision Taylor, seriously cba Taylor, motivated Taylor, panicked Taylor and the Taylor who would sooner perform trephining on her best friend than think about the upcoming exams.
Of course, everyone else is going through exactly the same thing. Except those extremely annoying people who don't do anything at all but still get the best grades possible. Those people seem to just cruise along effortlessly. Which isn't fair on all the tired, grouchy, awake, hyper, revising, not revising, cba, motivated, panicky trephining experts who have to behold their cruising.
Today was interesting for me. Have you ever been in one of those situations where you realise the person you trusted has completely thrown it back in your face? That happened. In short, I was pretty gutted to hear that the person I trusted most had told one of my other friends something that I would rather not be shared around. I'm not really sure how I feel about it right now, but I was pretty damn angry at first. It's funny how you feel like you're never going to forgive that person for their wrong-doings, but then you just calm down. And you kind of still want to be angry but you just can't be. It's your brain's way of pulling you back from the edge of that cliff, dangling over the swirling seas of insanity. Remember that metaphor? From post two I think? Well I just cleverly slipped it back in.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)