I have a few minutes before spending the rest of the night at work and I remembered that I once told Jacob I was posting something about him here. Never did. Here's my second, or third rather, band practice scribbles:
JV Band Practice:
The sheer luck it took to get me here is unexplainable, so I won't try. I remember what Nathen said about how awkwardness isn't real but created by ourselves- so I've made the trio I've part of for the last fifteen minutes hopefully tolerable. Plu I am smiley today. Nicky asks what's wrong with me that I'm so smiley lol. Jacob comes in and just radiates; he's smiley too, and warm, ready and able-bodied. He hugs me first becoming the ring master of this cellar circus, and I get the feeling of tight-chested awe that I get sometimes with Nate, and Lights, even Stereo, but never yet with JV. He turns and smiles at little jokes he makes towards me and I appreciate it like a cool washcloth after the heat This Condition has been giving my face. I change focus and see Nicky as a celebrity in this moment which is semi, if not wholly, amusing to me. He behaves so differently here than his own band's practice. Here he is...assertive, even relaxed. This Nicky- JV Nicky- intimidates me. He knows what he's doing, knows what he wants to do, is damn good...and knows it. Zach's impressively handling the bass, high hat, and snare rhythms as well as throwing in a trumpet up top. I don't so much adore the parts he has created for Jacob's songs, but they're making this happen right here and now. And I have to give props to that.
Nicky moves to lean very James Dean-esque against a pole- a punk rock Jimmy D. aw lol. And he looks -. He still blushes when he realizes I'm watching, which is ironic since he picks on me for being over-attentive all the time. The cycle is the only thing that keeps me grounded with him, oddly enough.
It's cool how it only takes musicians and dancers 4 counts to delve back into the dramatic intensities of a piece. "One! Two! Three! Four!" or "A-5, 6, 7, 8 And!"
Jacob laughs at everything and I consider recent chats I've had with both frontmen, making observations about Jacob and Nate that I will choose to leave out here.
Nicky likes when Jacob yell-sings, and I do recall seeing that excited smile on him when Nate breaks the sound barrier too. Jacob's playing "Africa" again.
*note: the scribe of these writings fell asleep in band practice before the accounts could be completed. She apologizes to all present.
...Ricky.
the "HOT" song, to be by: Jacob Vanags
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
I believe in the sand beneath my toes
Today was long in a very short amount of time. Ballet teachers were verbally abusive yet, it's not hurtful..it's just old. The past five days most of us have pulled 12-hour shifts in the dance world so the level of sore is very high and the level of brain cells is very low. Meesh and I punked out early, choosing to discuss the patterns of life rather than the direction of our pelvic floors. I think we made the right choice. Yesterday, admist feverish rehearsals, I found out I'll be going to Maine for ACDF (the American College Dance Festival) to perform in March. I also got cast double for Dance Adelphi in easily the 2 most depressing and fun pieces coming out of our Department this year. Aaand I held open auditions referred to more commonly as 'playdates' for the smashing new peice coming out of the Dance Department's sarcastically-mouthed punk; me. Yes. That's a real reference. The freshman blew me away and we inserted a completely obvious Nate Cyphert allusion at the end of the first chorus phrase. Now despite protest from Brian Patrick I'm reading The Giver, simply because Jacob told me too, and discussing with AndreBaby whether I am human or zombie. I'll get back to you.
Yesterday I had a 2-hour break from rehearsals in which I used to clean the van with Nicky. Ezra needs a facial. I realized Nick's way of getting things done is severely different than most peoples, so I decided to pay attention and share his methods with you now:
First we stood in the van for a good 10-15 minutes just assessing the space. When we were done with this initial step, it was still a mess. Second we formed a garbage out of a grocery bag and collected all the crumples and wastes. Then we sat for 5 minutes, moved random things around for 5 minutes, and folded sleeping bags for 10. Finally, after much little kid whining from me, it was time for cleaning products. Nicky would only let me clean the insides of the windows, which forced me to go behind his back and ask Nate if I could also do the outsides, which later got me in trouble with Nick. Lol. Nicky does small tasks with a lot of intensity. Like vacuuming under the driver's seat. The vacuum sucked, which is ironic since it didnt suck up hardly anything at all, yet Nicky still contorted his tiny frame into an awkward deep clean position to apprehend as many particles as possible. Or like scrubbing the wheels. His legs fold up like a bird in flight and he just scrubs there, warning me to be ready with the hose since we don't wanna waste any time. Riiight. I was also scolded for standing in the line of spray, re-washing too many areas, and playing in the suds. I was accused for taking unpaid texting breaks (which was true) and for checking him out while he made the soap (which was half true). He was appauled when I had to leave to get a massage, saying getting the van clean was obviously more important and questioning my priorities. Overall I'd conclude that it's difficult to describe Nicky C. mannerisms rightly. The van is probably still grimy but there's candy in the Office. The windows are immaculate.
...E-Mart.
"Semi-Charmed Life" by: Third Eye Blind
Yesterday I had a 2-hour break from rehearsals in which I used to clean the van with Nicky. Ezra needs a facial. I realized Nick's way of getting things done is severely different than most peoples, so I decided to pay attention and share his methods with you now:
First we stood in the van for a good 10-15 minutes just assessing the space. When we were done with this initial step, it was still a mess. Second we formed a garbage out of a grocery bag and collected all the crumples and wastes. Then we sat for 5 minutes, moved random things around for 5 minutes, and folded sleeping bags for 10. Finally, after much little kid whining from me, it was time for cleaning products. Nicky would only let me clean the insides of the windows, which forced me to go behind his back and ask Nate if I could also do the outsides, which later got me in trouble with Nick. Lol. Nicky does small tasks with a lot of intensity. Like vacuuming under the driver's seat. The vacuum sucked, which is ironic since it didnt suck up hardly anything at all, yet Nicky still contorted his tiny frame into an awkward deep clean position to apprehend as many particles as possible. Or like scrubbing the wheels. His legs fold up like a bird in flight and he just scrubs there, warning me to be ready with the hose since we don't wanna waste any time. Riiight. I was also scolded for standing in the line of spray, re-washing too many areas, and playing in the suds. I was accused for taking unpaid texting breaks (which was true) and for checking him out while he made the soap (which was half true). He was appauled when I had to leave to get a massage, saying getting the van clean was obviously more important and questioning my priorities. Overall I'd conclude that it's difficult to describe Nicky C. mannerisms rightly. The van is probably still grimy but there's candy in the Office. The windows are immaculate.
...E-Mart.
"Semi-Charmed Life" by: Third Eye Blind
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
a write way and a wrong way
Poetry is for...getting smarter, so you can say how you really feel with just the write words. For...searching for a way to tell the little red-haired girl that you love her. And for...filling blogs when you aren't ready to fill them with your own words!
Where the poet stops, the poem
begins. The poem asks only
that the poet get out of the way.
The poem empties itself
in order to fill itself up.
The poem is nearest the poet
when the poet laments
that it has vanished forever.
When the poet disappears
the poem becomes visible.
What may the poem choose,
best for the poet?
It will choose that the poet
not choose for himself.
"The Master"
by: Donald Hall
Where the poet stops, the poem
begins. The poem asks only
that the poet get out of the way.
The poem empties itself
in order to fill itself up.
The poem is nearest the poet
when the poet laments
that it has vanished forever.
When the poet disappears
the poem becomes visible.
What may the poem choose,
best for the poet?
It will choose that the poet
not choose for himself.
"The Master"
by: Donald Hall
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
In the Wake of Saturday
best.
this morning when i woke
it was from a dance
where our arms were linked and your smile,
your smile was like summertime
and summertime is my favorite.
this morning when i woke
i could still see the thrill
in blue raspberry tongues and mustard-colored socks,
in sweetly sung riffs and bent silver strings.
(here we go)
tattoos on the chests of crashing hearts
kept the time that did not pass
and we sang like fools
under these conditions,
and i was burned by the fireworks in your eyes;
fresh to death and loving us right back
this morning when i woke i could still feel your arms
around me like we'd been friends for days
a static touch to remember me by
and you whispered for promises that this would never end
and i knew the lyrics were true.
sunday.
this morning when i woke
it was from a song
and the night was still young and the melody,
the melody was loud in my ears,
and i realized we'd been here all along
in yellow-haired promises and sweetly sung riffs
that you'd left in my ear
to keep for the morning
when i woke to put both feet on the ground
and live viacarously through firework scars and static smiles.
...Ricky.
posted by request. guess who these lines are about <3
this morning when i woke
it was from a dance
where our arms were linked and your smile,
your smile was like summertime
and summertime is my favorite.
this morning when i woke
i could still see the thrill
in blue raspberry tongues and mustard-colored socks,
in sweetly sung riffs and bent silver strings.
(here we go)
tattoos on the chests of crashing hearts
kept the time that did not pass
and we sang like fools
under these conditions,
and i was burned by the fireworks in your eyes;
fresh to death and loving us right back
this morning when i woke i could still feel your arms
around me like we'd been friends for days
a static touch to remember me by
and you whispered for promises that this would never end
and i knew the lyrics were true.
sunday.
this morning when i woke
it was from a song
and the night was still young and the melody,
the melody was loud in my ears,
and i realized we'd been here all along
in yellow-haired promises and sweetly sung riffs
that you'd left in my ear
to keep for the morning
when i woke to put both feet on the ground
and live viacarously through firework scars and static smiles.
...Ricky.
posted by request. guess who these lines are about <3
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
When outtakes are funnier than the final cut
So I was wrong about today. Ok, maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow will be a good day! I haven't much to say for tonight other than my eyes were too tired to watch my friends, so I listened instead. Dinner Party at Nate's. Andre, I would say was my hero for the night; devising the plan so I didn't have to and stop and shopping like a champ. He didn't stop talking the whole ride to Astoria, but after that mainly just yelled, "Get outta my kitchen!" I left the waffle maker at your house 'thane. In retrospect, the waffles were kinda chewy and the Tropicana had no pulp. But Andre eventually got the hang of French Toast and we didn't kill Colin with milk products. If anyone's looking to buy Nate or any of his wonderful housemates a gift...give forks, cuz Andre hadda cut his doughy stack with a spoon. Thank you Nathen and TeeJ for doing the dishes. The project part of the evening will remain hush hush, but I will tell you; we worked with a lot of big names and a no nonsense creative director and I think people are gonna be talking about this. Please don't hold your breath.
Finally I'm warm, and soo not into facing a new day, however I like to think no day is completely lost so here were my favorite highlights about this one:
-Zach's school was cancelled and he got to rest.
-The terrible barre: O'Hara doing her own arms, Garra grilling FatMan, Me texting with my phone down my leotard, Zee just standing still for deggages, SiscoKid's leopard print ballet skirt, and Meesh sick posture in btwn kickboxing moves.
-Andre Palmer
-Colin's housecoat
-trimming Nicky C's fro
-our epic discussion of the new Tropicana design.
-Rachel, your bathroom door is on upside down.
-Nate's pissy attitude to get what he wants ;)
-Nicky telling me I only use the pout lip to get what I want lol.
-My nap in Jay's car on the way home.
Tomorrow.This.is.Calm.
...Ricky.
"Jesus Christ" by: Brand New
Finally I'm warm, and soo not into facing a new day, however I like to think no day is completely lost so here were my favorite highlights about this one:
-Zach's school was cancelled and he got to rest.
-The terrible barre: O'Hara doing her own arms, Garra grilling FatMan, Me texting with my phone down my leotard, Zee just standing still for deggages, SiscoKid's leopard print ballet skirt, and Meesh sick posture in btwn kickboxing moves.
-Andre Palmer
-Colin's housecoat
-trimming Nicky C's fro
-our epic discussion of the new Tropicana design.
-Rachel, your bathroom door is on upside down.
-Nate's pissy attitude to get what he wants ;)
-Nicky telling me I only use the pout lip to get what I want lol.
-My nap in Jay's car on the way home.
Tomorrow.This.is.Calm.
...Ricky.
"Jesus Christ" by: Brand New
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
When I write the book about my life...
I've been trying to write this next post for a long time, and there's at least 3 drafts in my little blog box that just...weren't good enough for me. I think that's what being at school does; brings back super self-judgment and second thoughts. I guess it could be good and bad. But today has been the longest bad day ever: 48 hours, and I just can't keep going without stopping to say a few things.
Friday Morning: This is how it should be; New Hall 220 and their boys. Melana and Murph. Ramanda and Gus Gus. Me and the 5 guys in my ears. Have you ever listened to a song, and felt your whole life could be in one handful not an arm's length away? I wonder when I'll grow sturdy and be able to have a real relationship, instead of one constantly on shuffle. Yet this morning it doesn't so much bother me and I actually think they're the ones missing out; these background vocals are unreal. The other day Nate taught me the difference between a pre-chorus and a bridge. And I kinda think I see my little world in a different light. I generate lots of bridges, lots of tonality changes. Prolly because I get antsy and think I need to entertain myself. This is what becomes of being shoved outside until dinnertime! I should've rotted in front of pre-made recreational video games like every other normal child. Anyway, I take pre-choruses for granted. I miss them. I don't even notice them until I'm writing about the chorus. Maybe I should pay more attention.
I don't remember Saturday. What happened Saturday? I went somewhere. Hm. Glow-in-the dark Party! But more importantly, eventually a tiny little attic hippie bedroom of a fellow young choreographer mind, with posters of the Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, and Janis Joplin. I remembered what Nate told me about Janis Joplin, and briefly went cold at the core. After many drinks, a number of records, and the appearance of a few 27's...I found ourselves in a simple utopia that woke me up from the inside out. Jay was handed Jessie's acoustic guitar and before we knew it we were 11 songs deep in a This Condition sing-along with minor appearances from my beloved Dakota, among others. Jay played till his drunk fingers bled entirely over Jessie's guitar. Most thought it was gross, while I deemed it "bad ass" and "epic" in my re-telling of the night to Melana. I guess it defines what kind of girl I am that this night I remember stained strings over cops and jello shots.
Sunday I remember. Sunday it took Jacob and I like an hour and a half to get to Nate's due to grocery store operators hiding the damn chicken wings in alternate sections and constant chatter with zero focus. We listened to Artist vs. Poet 6 times without hearing a single song. Moral of the story: read The Giver. When we realized neither one of us really knew why we'd been called to Nate's so pre-party and that once again we'd been conned into doing exactly what Nate wanted...Jacob began to play "Africa" by Toto on the keyboard under Nate's hat stash and I laid on the floor to write. This is what I have:
"I am laying on Nathen Cyphert's floor watching him fold underwear. I have arrived.
Jacob and I are here pre-pre-game Super Bowl party for really no reason at all other than we're doing what Nate wanted. I spun around in his computer chair until I flung myself into his nightstand. And there I stopped in my wheely tracks, suddenly fixated on one spiral notebook. I know what kind of notebook that is, I thought. I peeked, I confess. I let the pages breeze over scribbled phrases and rough lyrics. I closed the cover before I could read even a word though. I knew what kind of notebook that was. I wheeled away feeling sneaky.
He yelled at me, Nathen. For being nasty towards Mike. And I hung my head, guilty and scolded, for about 15 minutes without writing or moving. Now, he and Jacob are casually practicing a collaboration and I am in the familiar position of the sideline poet; writing the leftover phrases of us that go unsung. They stop, without getting anything done at all, and Nate plays his acoustic at his computer desk. For some reason it hits me; the image of his small frame bent over the hollow body in this lighting is timeless. I get the feeling that he's part of an ancient scene and I'm not even here."
The rest of that day includes experimental chicken wings, an amazing walk with Jay, pizza with Lights Resolve, upstairs/downstairs texting with Nate, matching Nicky C. (really!?), forts with Erin, and one epic Steelers fan nearly falling through the ceiling. Seriously. The bad day started when I left and I'm just getting around to laughing at certain IMs again (Randi).
I feel like the bad days are breaking their streak...because I got a sign, obviously. Limping home from work, after dance comments, disturbing presenses, silent treatments, and scolding...I came across a sidewalk carrying a face I knew. I smiled, Mr. Jack Tangney. He had on a cute little hat and cute little jeans, but his nice little smile and him calling me by name was the turnaround. Tomorrow, will be a good day.
Ricky (not Richard)
..."If I Had A Hammer" by: Peter, Paul, and Mary
Friday Morning: This is how it should be; New Hall 220 and their boys. Melana and Murph. Ramanda and Gus Gus. Me and the 5 guys in my ears. Have you ever listened to a song, and felt your whole life could be in one handful not an arm's length away? I wonder when I'll grow sturdy and be able to have a real relationship, instead of one constantly on shuffle. Yet this morning it doesn't so much bother me and I actually think they're the ones missing out; these background vocals are unreal. The other day Nate taught me the difference between a pre-chorus and a bridge. And I kinda think I see my little world in a different light. I generate lots of bridges, lots of tonality changes. Prolly because I get antsy and think I need to entertain myself. This is what becomes of being shoved outside until dinnertime! I should've rotted in front of pre-made recreational video games like every other normal child. Anyway, I take pre-choruses for granted. I miss them. I don't even notice them until I'm writing about the chorus. Maybe I should pay more attention.
I don't remember Saturday. What happened Saturday? I went somewhere. Hm. Glow-in-the dark Party! But more importantly, eventually a tiny little attic hippie bedroom of a fellow young choreographer mind, with posters of the Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, and Janis Joplin. I remembered what Nate told me about Janis Joplin, and briefly went cold at the core. After many drinks, a number of records, and the appearance of a few 27's...I found ourselves in a simple utopia that woke me up from the inside out. Jay was handed Jessie's acoustic guitar and before we knew it we were 11 songs deep in a This Condition sing-along with minor appearances from my beloved Dakota, among others. Jay played till his drunk fingers bled entirely over Jessie's guitar. Most thought it was gross, while I deemed it "bad ass" and "epic" in my re-telling of the night to Melana. I guess it defines what kind of girl I am that this night I remember stained strings over cops and jello shots.
Sunday I remember. Sunday it took Jacob and I like an hour and a half to get to Nate's due to grocery store operators hiding the damn chicken wings in alternate sections and constant chatter with zero focus. We listened to Artist vs. Poet 6 times without hearing a single song. Moral of the story: read The Giver. When we realized neither one of us really knew why we'd been called to Nate's so pre-party and that once again we'd been conned into doing exactly what Nate wanted...Jacob began to play "Africa" by Toto on the keyboard under Nate's hat stash and I laid on the floor to write. This is what I have:
"I am laying on Nathen Cyphert's floor watching him fold underwear. I have arrived.
Jacob and I are here pre-pre-game Super Bowl party for really no reason at all other than we're doing what Nate wanted. I spun around in his computer chair until I flung myself into his nightstand. And there I stopped in my wheely tracks, suddenly fixated on one spiral notebook. I know what kind of notebook that is, I thought. I peeked, I confess. I let the pages breeze over scribbled phrases and rough lyrics. I closed the cover before I could read even a word though. I knew what kind of notebook that was. I wheeled away feeling sneaky.
He yelled at me, Nathen. For being nasty towards Mike. And I hung my head, guilty and scolded, for about 15 minutes without writing or moving. Now, he and Jacob are casually practicing a collaboration and I am in the familiar position of the sideline poet; writing the leftover phrases of us that go unsung. They stop, without getting anything done at all, and Nate plays his acoustic at his computer desk. For some reason it hits me; the image of his small frame bent over the hollow body in this lighting is timeless. I get the feeling that he's part of an ancient scene and I'm not even here."
The rest of that day includes experimental chicken wings, an amazing walk with Jay, pizza with Lights Resolve, upstairs/downstairs texting with Nate, matching Nicky C. (really!?), forts with Erin, and one epic Steelers fan nearly falling through the ceiling. Seriously. The bad day started when I left and I'm just getting around to laughing at certain IMs again (Randi).
I feel like the bad days are breaking their streak...because I got a sign, obviously. Limping home from work, after dance comments, disturbing presenses, silent treatments, and scolding...I came across a sidewalk carrying a face I knew. I smiled, Mr. Jack Tangney. He had on a cute little hat and cute little jeans, but his nice little smile and him calling me by name was the turnaround. Tomorrow, will be a good day.
Ricky (not Richard)
..."If I Had A Hammer" by: Peter, Paul, and Mary
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
