Connection

I know. It's been forever.  Again.  For those of you who continue to check for updates, thank you.  I apologize for not posting life stories, deep and meaningful comparisons of life in CO and life in ND, or media of recent performances.

It's possible (although not likely) that all of the above will come again sometime, if I ever find the time, energy, and inspiration to keep writing.  It's also possible that writing this entry will encourage me to write more. 

Until one of the above happens, this will have to suffice:

---------------

I had one of those experiences this weekend that reminded me why I'm doing this whole music thing. 

One of the most important reasons that I'm following this path to what I hope will become a lifetime of performance is for the opportunity to make music that moves people to feel.  There are songs that have brought a huge smile to my face (see this), evoked tears (Adele makes me want to die), incited laughter (how could you *not* laugh at this the first time you hear it?), or made me want to shake my booty (although I can't do it as well as JLo).

But the beauty of music is that what those songs do for me could be entirely different from what they do for you.  We all connect to different things at different times, based on our past and present experiences.  It's powerful for me to hear a song that formerly meant nothing to me suddenly mean something and I enjoy exploring how that connection was created.  That connection is what makes music powerful.

Even more special to me than exploring that connection, though, is playing a part in the connecting.  

For those of you who don't know, I'm fortunate in that one of my sources of income is doing what I love: singing.  A local church pays me to attend weekly choir rehearsals and services to support the choir and sing a solo here and there.  It's very common in cities, although I'd never heard of such a thing when I was living in good ol' ND.  (I could write a whole blog on this topic, so I'm skipping over the details.)  

Due to a number of unforeseen circumstances, the song that we sang this past Sunday featured me as a soloist for 2 of 5 verses.  I sang, the choir sang, church went on, life was normal.  

Until after the service.  A man who I've seen in church every week approached our music director. I was near her and overheard him thank her for such beautiful music (she wrote the setting of the text).  He then pointed me out and said, "I don't know where you found her, but she's incredible."  He then turned to me for the first time and I saw tears in his eyes.  He then asked me, "Can I give you a hug?"  I smiled and replied, "Absolutely."  While we hugged the awkward hug of people who don't know each other, he thanked me and then walked away.

I should mention that seeing people cry almost always makes me cry, too.  But the tears in my eyes at that moment were out of gratitude and a tiny bit of shame.  Gratitude is obvious.  I'm grateful to be here, studying what I love, sharing beautiful music, working with my talent, connecting with people, etc.

But why shame?  I have to be honest with you: even to this moment, I have no idea what the text of that song was about.  I didn't give one thought to the text or its meaning.  I'm pretty sure that the only things that I was thinking about while singing were the notes, blending my voice to the section, and making sure that I was using good technique to create a smooth, even phrase with no major bumps or misaligned vowels. I never once looked at the congregation in an attempt to connect with them.

In light of the horrible performance practices outlined above, I never ever could have imagined that what we were singing about as a choir would have an effect on the people listening.  But it did.  A large effect.  It's humbling. 

This is a problem that we performers have.  We have to pay attention to the details to make technically beautiful and sound music.  We need to use good technique to preserve our bodies and minds.  We can't get so emotionally attached to the music that we get emotional in performance.  We MUST do all of those things.  But we do occasionally lose perspective.  We forget to look at the bigger picture, to think about the music as music itself, which is just as important as the details.  We sometimes forget that we aren't performing for ourselves, but for our audience.  (Every "we" in this paragraph should maybe be changed to "I."  I should speak for other performers.) 

Thankfully, our audience can be affected even if we aren't doing everything exactly right.  And we can't know if, how, or when we'll affect them.  We can just do our best and hope that someone is making some sort of connection to the music.  And when we do make that connection, we can be thankful for the opportunity and ability to have made it.  Connection, after all, is one of the best benefits of performing music.

I Do?

People my age who are from my area of the country but no longer live there generally agree: It’s crazy how many people our age are getting married.  That’s not the worst of it, though.  We also are guilty of committing an awful double standard: We grumble about how we ourselves haven’t yet found someone to marry and how unlikely it is that it will happen anytime soon.

I won’t lie to you (and this may be the first time I’ve actually “said” this aloud): I act like I’m grossed out by the prospect of marriage, but in reality, I’m pretty sure that I wouldn’t be terribly disappointed or disgusted if it actually happened to me sometime within the next 10 years. 

The fact is that people from the Midwest tend to get married way younger than people on the coasts.  I’m not going to pretend like I know why, or even make any guesses as to why that is.  But it’s true.  And citing that statistic makes me feel at least a little bit better about myself. 

In all actuality, though, there really are a lot of people who are my age who are (*gasp*) from North Dakota who aren’t married yet.  And even more who aren’t from North Dakota and who aren’t married.  We unmarried 25-year olds are not as unique as we would like to think. But recently, I’ve had many opportunities to hang out with a lot of really awesome people from all over who are my age and aren’t married.

When we hung out, did we talk about the crazy people who are getting married?  Yes.  Did we say how glad we were that we weren’t married?  Of course.  Did we, in the very next breath, lament our singleness with lack of any promising prospects?  Like we wouldn’t.

And even though the conversation can be intense and frustrating, it’s mostly just comforting.  I’m pleased to be part of the group of people my age who are wonderful people and simply haven’t found another wonderful person to ruin share their lives with.  Because really, the people I have in mind are great, wonderful, and, at the very least, on their way to being successful.  

I’m happy to include myself in that group, too.

Booze Cruising

Anyone who knows me well knows that I refused to drink alcohol in high school.  People knew better than even to ask me if I wanted to go to a party.
  
Sometime between high school and my senior year of college, though, that changed.  I mostly blame two people and one situation for the change of heart: Jordon Nissen, Medora, and Guillaume Andrieu.

In my junior year, I was still working as an RA of Watson Hall at Jamestown College.  I turned 21 that year, and I was on duty until midnight every Sunday during the second semester.  Come rain or shine, when midnight rolled around, there was my coworker Jordon, ready to take me to the bar for drinks.  Keep in mind that at that time, bars in Jamestown closed at 1:00, so we'd have less than an hour. But believe you me, we made the most of that hour.

The following summer, I spent my first summer in Medora.  I made friends with crazy people who liked to drink a lot. The rest, as you know, is history.

Upon returning to Jamestown College that fall, I was fortunate enough to make friends with this French kid. Guillaume.  It's pretty funny how I met him in the first place, actually, and if you want to know the story, just ask.  It doesn't really apply to the blog, so I'm not going to tell it here, but it IS a good story.  In any case, Guillaume did not allow anyone not to go out and have a good time. Especially me. And if we weren't out having a good time, we were in having a good time. It made for a good year.

And I haven't stopped the trend.  I drink about two nights a week now that I live in Boulder.  And have a really good time...

However, not many things in Boulder can compete with the beauty of booze cruising.  Now, you city people will never, ever understand the appeal or rationality of this, but I'll do my best to explain it in such a way that you won't think I'm crazy and stupid.  I definitely don't condone doing this where there are people driving or walking across the roads. Or where there are stoplights.  But it's a little different when you are the only car for miles and miles on gravel roads in cold, lonely North Dakota.|

Anyway.  Like I said, in high school, I didn't drink.  And anytime anyone did anything that involved drinking, I didn't want to be around.  My sister, on the other hand...  Again, a different story.  The thing is, though, that in high school, kids are way under the drinking age.  So going to the bar is out of the question.  Next best option: create your own bar.  In a car.

Yes, that's right.  Booze cruising, for those of you who haven't been exposed to the term, is quite literally and simply drinking and driving.  Usually in excess.

I had never *really* gone booze cruising until Thanksgiving this year.  And by the time the decision was made to go booze cruising, I had had enough to drink not to care about the safety issues behind driving around in a pickup on snowy, gravel roads with a driver who had had too much to drink beginning about 3 hours prior to the start of the cruise.  It just seemed like more fun than going home and going to bed.

And it was way more fun than going home and going to bed.  I can't really explain the appeal in driving around, drinking, peeing outside (yikes!), getting lost, and other such behavior.  It's just really fun.  I don't know why.  I guess it's just one of those things.  Or maybe it depends on the company?  I'll stop guessing.

In any case, I did it again at Christmas, and this time may have been even more fun, due to an incident that requires acting.  If it didn't, I would describe it here.  Maybe I'll take a video of it sometime for all of you.  Suffice it to say that it involves snow, gravel, peeing, and driving.  All at the same time.  Use your imaginations.

To be clear: I don't condone this behavior, nor do I necessarily think that it's a good idea.  That's why I didn't do it for a long, long time.  I still am not sure that it's something that I should be doing at the age of 25, but boredom breeds bad decisions?  (See "whoops.")

Home for the Holidays II

So, do you remember a few months ago when I promised that I would try to write a blog a week?

Yeah, that didn't happen. And it probably still won't. And I didn't make it one of my new year's resolutions, because everyone knows that no one keeps their new year's resolutions, anyway. Instead, I'm just going to keep on going with writing when I have time/a topic comes to mind.

Do you remember about 5 weeks ago, when I was home for Thanksgiving and wrote this blog about my time there? And how I promised a second half and told you all to "look for another installment and the point of the blog sometime soon."? Yeah, well, there are two problems. The first is that I don't remember a lot of what happened when I was home after that, and the second is that I don't remember what I actually had in mind for the point of the blog. My bad.

I did, however, make a list of serious topics that came from that trip home, so you'll see those in the coming weeks....

HOLY COW!!!

I just looked at the list, and guess what's on it! The point of the previous blog!!! Sometimes I do things like that, that are intended to make my life easier, but I don't pay attention or forget, and then my good intentions go out the window. Not this time, kids. Not this time.

Okay, so. On to the point of the previous Thanksgiving blog, which again, you can find here. I really recommend that you read at least the first two paragraphs.

-----

I'm very fortunate in that I have a very great group of friends and a fantastic family that has been super-supportive of me and my life decisions. I'm also very fortunate because even though I live 3-ish states away, they still keep in touch.

I'm not the best at calling people. Just ask my mom. (Sorry, Mom. I think maybe I'm getting better??) Apparently, many of my friends also aren't the best at calling, because they don't call me, either. (Yes, I just called you all out.) But we're all busy and have stuff going on, and it's easy not to call people. I used to use driving as a good excuse to call people, but I rarely drive anymore. I mostly take the bus, and I refuse to be that girl who keeps talking and talking and talking on a long bus ride.

Ugh. I'm straying from the point.

Even though I don't necessarily stay in the best of touch with my friends, when I'm home in ND, I try to make a point of seeing as many people as possible. This is not always easy. For example, many of my friends live 5-6 hours from Gwinner. Some (okay, most) have significant others, jobs, etc. that don't allot much time to Gwinner while I'm there. But we try. And it's great.

And I'm straying again.

I'm going to stop beating around the bush and get to the point. The point is this: If I spend too long within the boundaries of Gwinner, I start to go crazy. I get super crabby and really mean and get a really, really awful attitude. And I know that people notice. And I do apologize, but being there for too long makes me nutso. I know that it's the place that I grew up, and I know that everyone there is super supportive, but it's really hard for me to spend extended periods of time there. I love having a place to call home, and I'm more than happy to take short visits. And I love my family and I love visiting my friends who are around. But I just. get. miserable. And I feel bad, but it's true.

After my grandma died in the summer of 2008, I thought a lot about the small-town atmosphere. I thought to myself, "How could I ever live anywhere but a small town?" Everyone was more than willing to help with anything that anyone could possibly think of. It was so refreshing to see people come together and everyone knew and everyone cared. It was touching.

What I've learned from living in a bigger place, though, is that the same thing happens here, it's just with a smaller group of people. The people who know you and care about you are the ones who help and do what needs to be done. Sure, the entire city of Boulder isn't going to come together for me when my dog dies (I don't actually have a dog), but my closest friends and maybe even people one or two branches out from that circle would be willing to do whatever is needed. The city atmosphere just helps me to be more anonymous, which I totally appreciate.

This past summer, I spent my fourth summer in Medora. You can read about it here. Basically what it says is that I was miserable all summer. And I attributed a lot of my misery to crazy tourists. I still won't deny that. But now that there's more distance from the experience, I also attribute it to Medora's size and the traits that follow from it being a small town. Not the people, just the situation.

Here's what I'm trying to say. I appreciate the small-town life and am glad that I grew up in it and have experienced it. I love visiting it. There are some aspects of it that I seriously miss (see the blog about booze cruising to come soon). I'm really, really proud of a lot of things that my home state does. I brag about ND all the time. I'm glad to have a place to call home. I'm just mostly uncomfortable there. And I'm sorry for that.

But most of all, I'm sorry that when I'm there I get awful. Feel free to call me out. It's a serious problem. I can take it... Probably.

Home for the Holiday

I can't count the number of times that I have heard my parents say, "Stacey is the first one to want to leave home and the first one who wants to get back home."  When we were little, it was probably the most truthful saying in the history of the world.  I don't want to embarrass her terribly, but suffice it to say that she lived up to her reputation and could make herself physically sick to get out of any situation in which she wasn't comfortable. 

Last year when I was home for Christmas, I completely understood what Stacey felt when she was a child.  I was altogether too excited to get home to North Dakota for the holidays, but the excitement quickly wore off.  There is a list of reasons why, and I considered writing a blog about all of those reasons last year, but chose not to based on the number of people that I would have offended by writing it.  And that's coming from the girl who has told people, "If you don't like it, don't read it."  Yes, the potential sources were that offensive.  So I never wrote the blog, but let's just say that last year's trip home got to be pretty rough for a number of reasons that won't be discussed in this medium.  

Anyway, my trip home for Thanksgiving this year is significantly shorter than the trip home for Christmas last year.  Actually, I'm not *supposed* to be home at all.  In... June...? July...?  ish...?  my family decided that because both Stacey and I get a whole week off from school for Thanksgiving, they would come down to CO and we would spend Thanksgiving in Boulder.  I had it all figured out and a constructed list of things that I wanted us to do and acquired serving platters and had been checking grocery fliers for appropriate coupons and had told everyone about how excited I was for my family to come and hang out.  And then Mom called and listed off a number of very convincing reasons why it would make more sense for me to come home than for them to come to Colorado..  She then offered to buy me a plane ticket to make that happen.  You don't say no to Dorenda.  Or at least I don't.  You also don't say no to a free flight and a delicious, home-cooked Thanksgiving meal.

So after staying up too late on Monday night at game night in my house with my Boulder people, I woke up early on Tuesday morning and hoofed it to the bus station to head to the airport to head home to North Dakota to spend Thanksgiving with the fam.  I just want to say how struck I was by the contrast in everything between take-off and landing.  It was about 40 degrees when I left the airport, and when I looked out my window after take-off, all I could see for miles and miles were the ever-gorgeous Rocky Mountains. 

Because I'm me, I slept for the whole flight.  When I woke up and looked out my window, all I could see were snow-covered plains and... well... nothing for miles and miles.  I swear to you that I could see all the way to the Montana border.  North Dakota is freaking flat.  Also, it was like... ZERO DEGREES.  It's so cold here.  I've become a whiny Coloradan when it comes to weather.  And it's actually not that cold here right now, so I shouldn't complain at all.  I'm just spoiled.

There have been lots of adventures here, and I've only been home for 2 days.  Unfortunately, this blog is already so long that most people won't read the whole thing, so look for another installment and the point of the blog sometime soon.  I can't say when, but it will be soon.

Support

No, people, I am NOT talking about bras here.  I'm talking about people.

This weekend, CU Opera put on Carousel by Rogers and Hammerstein. I was in the chorus for the show, and had a very small solo in the second act, but was on stage for a pretty decent amount of time.

The show was great.  The cast was amazing.  I had a really good time (most of the time).  Those things aren't really a big deal to me right now, though.  The most amazing part of it for me was the fact that it reinforced something that I already knew:  I have an amazing support group.

My parents drove all the way to CO from ND to see me perform my 3-bar solo, stayed for a day, and drove the 15 hours back.  Friends and bosses and parents of friends and all sorts of other people came to see the show for my benefit, and they did it willingly.  And excitedly.  And I know there are even more people who wanted to come, but couldn't.

And of course, everyone gave very good feedback about the whole show.  And my "aria" (as my voice teacher called it).  I got an email from someone I hardly know that said that my hip-shaking shook the whole theatre, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't a comment about my weight.  haha.  Just kidding, I know it wasn't. 

It's just really helpful to have people who are just as excited as me, if not more so, to see me doing something that I really enjoy.  It's a vote of confidence, and I like it.  

Thanks, supporters.  I appreciate you!

Fall is Here!

Because it's been uncharacteristically warm here in Boulder, I keep having to remind myself that it really is autumn.  We've had temps near 80 in the past week, and it's been awesome.  I would personally prefer if the earth was capable of keeping snow on the ground while the air temperature was at least 80 degrees.  That would be ideal for me.  I love the heat.  And sun.  

Alas, that's not possible, and I think that fall has come for real starting today.  I can cope because we've been so lucky so far.  Either way, no matter what the weather would have been like, last Sunday was definitely fall.  Or at least it was for a group of people who celebrated fall the best way possible: we went to a pumpkin patch.

Now, please keep in mind that I haven't been to a pumpkin patch since I was about 10 years old, so I was a little skeptical.  And there was, of course, a bit of drama involved (when isn't there), but the trip was excellent fun.  

We started the day with a little roost through a corn maze, despite the light rain that was bothering us.  Next, we headed to the pumpkin patch to pick our pumpkins.  At this particular pumpkin patch, they hand out knives at the entrance, and each person gets to cut their pumpkin straight from the vine.  

I have never, ever, ever seen as many pumpkins as I did that day.  No joke, there were probably a million.  We could see the sea of orange from miles away.   Literally.  The hardest part was finding the most perfectest pumpkin.  I definitely succeeded.  So did Kenny, because I picked his out, too.  Here's a little sampling of one of probably 10 pumpkin fields:

Pumpkins!!

After we had picked our pumpkins, we headed to the petting zoo and foodstands.  I got the most deliciousest caramel apple I've ever eaten, we fed the little pigs our apple cores, and almost went on a hayride.  Too fun.  I could go to the pumpkin patch every day.

The Apt

I told myself I would do this blog thing, and I'm doing it.  Even though it's Friday night and I should be getting ready to go out.  But that's a topic for a completely different blog.  Oh, Coloradans...  

If you'll recall, when I first moved to CO last year, I moved without even having visited Boulder.  I moved into an apartment that I'd never seen, with a roommate who I'd only communicated with via email, and everything ended up just peachy.  Great, even.

Until I got kicked out of said apartment.  Again, a-whole-nother can of worms.  

Either way, being kicked out of that place ended in me moving out to Broomfield and in with Kenny, who I now cannot live without.  Seriously.  The condo we were renting from his voice teacher in SD was great.  Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a piano, amazing location, King Soopers a half block away, really low rent... Everything was wonderful.  Except commuting.  Commuting 13.6 miles one way, two times a day made me want to die.  Rush hour traffic at 8:00 am was never fun, and being at school for 14 hours and then driving home was about as enjoyable as having teeth pulled.  We both knew that we couldn't stay there for another year, no matter how much we loved the place.  Our cars hated us.

So, in March or April, when a mutual friend and fellow vocal performance major was asking around for two new roommates for this fall, I immediately offered to move both Kenny and myself in.  It didn't take her long to agree that we should move in, and we started to get things in order.  Even though rent would be substantially, significantly, and incredibly higher (this is Boulder, after all), we decided that it was worth it.  After all, when we figured in gas, car maintenance, and convenience, there weren't many arguments as to why not to move to Boulder.

So, when the summer was over, Kenny and I moved into our new place in beautiful Boulder.  The new apartment has 4 bedrooms and 2.5 bathrooms.  There are 4.5 of us (Brent's boyfriend is around a lot), plus a very cute rabbit named Potato and Max the chinchilla.  We did have Bob the cat for a few weeks, but Brent's parents took him back when it was decided that he was too much stress.  Sadly.

Our location is great.  We're literally one block away from the Hop bus, which drops us off 20 feet from the front door of the music building on campus.  Target and the 29th street mall are a mere 6 blocks away.  We walk to and from the world-famous Pearl Street pedestrian mall a few times a week.  When we feel like it, we can take the scenic route and walk the 25-minute walk to school.  It's seriously wonderful.  

The roommate situation couldn't be better.  Here's the breakdown:

• 2 females
• 2 males
• 3 voice performance majors
• 1 opera fanatic/physics master's student who knows more about opera than the rest of us combined
• 2 sopranos
• 2 gays

What more could a person ask for, really?  And that's not mentioning that we all get along really well, especially when you consider that we hardly knew Danielle and had never met Brent when we moved in.  Our building could use a few improvements, but that's not happening anytime soon.  Damn BPM.

Also not happening anytime soon is pictures.  If you'll recall, I put my camera through the washing machine last spring, and haven't had the money to get a new one.  I'm asking for one for Christmas, though, and when it comes, I'll get ya'll pictures.  Until then, feel free to come and visit at anytime.  Then you can just see it for yourself!

My sincerest apologies

Oh, I really do apologize for hardly writing at all.  Okay, for really not writing at all.  I'm a horrible person.  Okay, I'm not a horrible person.  I'm just a very, very busy person.

Thank you to all of you who are continuing to attempt to keep in touch with my life via this blog.  You're keeping up with your side of the blogging game.  I, however, and not keeping my end of the deal.  

I hope to change that, from now on out.  I will put time into my schedule to blog at least once a week for you all.  I know that that's substantially less than last year, but I'm going to do it.  Notice that I said, "At least once."  It's the best I can do. 

Okay, okay, enough of my grovelling.  

Now for one of those really boring, really annoying, all-encompassing updates on the life of Raissa.

About a month ago, I was offered and accepted a job as a section leader in a choir at a church here in Boulder.  I attend weekly rehearsals and church services and get paid to sing.  Which is what I want to do with my life, so it's perfect.  Not to mention that the choir is small, but pretty darn talented and that the director has amazing ambition and a great vision for the choir.  It's an adorable church and a really great space to sing in, and I'm glad that I have the opportunity to be working with these people. 

I was cast in the chorus of CU's fall opera production.  Okay, so this year it's not so much an opera as a musical theatre piece, but if we focus on the important thing here, which is that I was actually cast, then we're thinking about the most important thing.  Rogers and Hammerstein's Carousel will be performed in CU's Macky Auditiorium on October 22, 23, and 24.  Visit www.cupresents.org to purchase tickets.  If my parents can make it all the way from ND, you can make it from wherever you are.  I'm singing a very small solo, so cheer loudly!  

I'm still working at the Center of the American West.  Sewing purses.  Don't get me started on that topic, because I might freak out.  But if you must know, I'll send pictures once they're completed.

Kenny and I have officially scheduled our junior recital.  We'll be performing on Tuesday, April 12th, at 7:30 pm in Grusin Music Hall.  Put it on your calendar now.  I don't want you to miss it.  We'll be singing some stuff together, which is very exciting, because he's a bass and I'm a soprano.  Oh, and because we both rock.  

The new apartment is still great as ever.  If I had a camera, I'd send you pictures, but if you'll recall, I put that camera through the washing machine last year in March-ish.  Mom, don't worry, a digital camera will be on my Christmas list.  Along with some other stuff that I'm sure you'll start asking about soon.

Okay, as far as broad overviews go, those are the most important things.  Keep looking for more frequent updates.  And thanks again for continuing to read through my excessively long hiatuses. 

Best. Day. Ever.

I've had a couple of rough days since I came back to Boulder.  I went to the ER and found out that I have gallstones, ex-boyfriend drama, a not-so-great audition, etc. 

Today completely made up for all of that.  It is the best. day. ever.

This morning, Kenny and I walked a few blocks down to the Boulder County Farmer's Market.  It was our first time going, and now I wish I could go every day.  All I bought was a delicious pretzel that we shared, and he bought an alpaca sweater, but that wasn't the joy.  The joy was in the atmosphere.  Perfect weather, meandering people, organic and home-made fruits, veggies, dips, oils, vinegars, flowers, jewelry, and so on.  So many booths.  So much food.  So many people.  It was fantastic.

During our meandering, we stopped in a little amphitheatre and saw a really great Frank Sinatra impersonator.  It would have been better had he had a live band instead of an ipod, but he had a fantastic voice, great stage presence, and wonderful crowd interaction.  He was good.  

We left there and walked down to Pearl Street, where we saw Boulder's one-and-only Ibashi-i, a very famous street performer.  More than just a performer, though, he's a contortionist.  He closes his show by jamming his entire body into a clear glass box that's 20" x 20" x 20".  Amazing.

When his show was through, we went through the Romanian Festival tent, where they were featuring traditional Romanian dancing.  There was this one guy with a fantastic moustache.  Clearly the leader of the troupe.  He was dancing quite spritely for his age, clearly enjoying himself.  They even had audience participation dances, which were probably not quite as fun to watch as they were to participate in, but I smiled the entire time.

We ran into a friend on the walk home, chatted for a while, and I had to blog right away.  I feel like I should go to bed now, just because I don't want anything bad to happen to ruin the day.  Perfect.

Medora, etc.

Wow.  Turns out I write a blog...  I never would have guessed based on my activity over the past almost four months.  I have a lot of good excuses for not writing, just so you know.  Here are a few:

•  I went home to North Dakota (sound like a familiar song to anyone else?) for the summer.  This blog is called coloradosoprano.  Writing from ND would just be hypocritical.
• Working in Medora, ND involves working 50-55 hours a week.  My hours were very strange.  I sometimes worked a split shift, and when I didn't, I would be working 4-11.  Generally that meant drinking excessively the night before and then sleeping in too late to make time to write a blog.
• Working in Medora, ND involves living in a campground.  In a really classy trailer house.  The campground does not have internet.  In order to get on the internet to perform the basic functions of my life, I had to drive into town.  Just to check my email!  Unbelievable.
• Medora is impossible to explain to anyone who hasn't ever worked there.  Ask my sister.  She'll tell you.

There may be another reason or two.  They mostly involve me being too lazy to write a blog.  Either way, I didn't do it.  I just didn't feel like writing.  I'm still not sure that I do, but here is something anyway.

This summer was my fourth summer in a row working for the Theodore Roosevelt Medora Foundation.  My first summer was amazing.  I had the most amazing job in the world.  I drove the beer cart at Bully Pulpit Golf Course and worked evenings at the Medora Musical (The Greatest Show in the West, in case you wanted to know). It was great for me to go out there because I didn't know anyone out there, I had never been there, and it was all new and exciting.  I loved it.  Adored it.  It was my favorite.  In fact, I agreed to go back for a second summer.  I did the same job and loved it a lot again.  I met more people, drank even more, and had an amazing summer (in part thanks to Guillaume, Matt, and Curtis, who helped me to keep my sanity).  So great, in fact, that I ended up staying all the way into October, since I was already done with school at that point.  I thought I wouldn't go back for summer number three, but lo and behold, I was convinced to go back.  Again.

My third summer I switched jobs and became the assistant manager of the Medora Musical Welcome Center, where we sell Medora Musical memorabilia and deal with ticketing issues.  Lots of ticketing issues.  New job, new hours, new friends.  Again, I liked it, but I remember saying several times over the course of the year that if I was to go back for summer number four, there would be no way that I would do the same job.  Overall, it was a really great summer.  Lots of crazy antics and crazy people.  I loved it.  After all, I DO love being crazy.

I was unsure about summer number four because of many, many variables, and really made the decision to go there at the very last minute.  Like, the last possible minute that I could make the decision.  My boss even had to email me and tell me that I had to tell him or he would find a replacement for me. (Ha!  Like that's possible!)  My little sister, Stacey, had made the commitment to go there for the summer, so I agreed to go, too.  I somehow forgot, though, over the course of the winter, about my decision never to work in the Welcome Center ever again.  Very unfortunately, so I was there again, and I hated it from pretty much the first day.

I was literally SO sick of people (tourists especially) that it took me tons of fortitude not to yell at them when they did stupid crap.  Literally.  One time, as soon as a customer turned the corner, I spoke (to myself), saying, "I hate you.  I seriously hate you.  You're dumb."  Now, I didn't say it really loudly, but loud enough that I couldn't believe that I had actually said it.  I had explosions of anger quite often, and my unfortunate co-workers were the ones who had to put up with me.  That job was just not good for me anymore.  I felt really bad because it was hard for me to do a good job of helping people when all I could think about was how much I didn't want them to be around and how much I disliked them simply for being tourists.  A bad deal.

I won't say that it was a horrible summer, but it was different.  When I first went to Medora I was struck by the so-called "Medora magic."  I've been around for so long, though, that there is no more magic.  I know all of the secrets to the magic and nothing is new anymore.  I'm sick of the drama and the politics.  I think I just need a change in my life.

As evidence that the entire summer wasn't awful, here are a few of the high points:

• I got to golf this summer a lot.  In past summers, my schedule didn't really allow for it, but I made time this summer.  My mom bought me a brand-new set of clubs, and I put them to good use.  Best trip was me, Shauna, Jettie, and Stacey, when the sayings, "You can putt from there," and "You can find that!" came into being.
• I got a really good tan!  I loved working day crew.  No people around, I got to work outside, work hard, get sweaty, get to know my coworkers better.  It's pretty fantastic.
• Margarita night.  On a random Thursday night, Jettie and I were going to have one margarita.  One quickly turned to two, and two to three, and before we knew it, we were running around the campground and harassing our friends, who only laughed at us.  It was awesome.
• Jettie's going-away party.  After being up until 5:00 am, I went home and decided to make a pizza.  Before the pizza was cooked and out of the oven, I passed out, and our whole house would have burned down if Heidi wouldn't have come home and saved my life.  The pizza was black all the way through (after cooking for 3 hours), and our house reeked of smoke all day.
• Once again, we had jungle juice for Shauna's birthday party.  She turned old.  Really old.  The party wasn't quite as epic as last year's, but still great fun.
• Volleyball in the living room.  With my crazy roommates.  And Drew.  Nuff said. 
• I learned a few swing dancing moves from the ever-great Tyrel Brown.  I'm not saying I'm a master, but I'm a few steps better than I was last year at this time.
• A visit from my Watson girls that included a rainy night at the Medora Musical, a few trips to Boots, horseback riding, and shopping in the metropolis that IS Medora.  
• Cupid shuffling.  Every time I was wasted.
• Cowboys.  
• Girls are dumb.  Really, really dumb.  Yes, that includes myself.

This is not, of course, an inclusive list, and if you feel like something needs to be added, you should probably tell me.  If I agree, I'll consider adding it to the list.  Unless I'm too lazy, of course. 

And I guess that's my summer in a nutshell.  I'll hopefully catch up with what has happened in CO soon.  Until then... 

All Along the Colorado Trail...

In recent years, I've moved a lot.  Let me give you a run-down:

• August 2004: Gwinner to Jamestown for my freshman year of college.
• May 2005: Jamestown to Gwinner to work at Bobcat.
• August 2005: Back to Jamestown for sophomore year.
• May 2006: Back to Gwinner for summer #2 at Bobcat.
• August 2006: To Jamestown for junior year.
• May 2007: To Medora to work for the summer (plus a carload of stuff to home first!)
• August 2007: Back to Jamestown for my last year of college (or so I thought)
• May 2008: Summer #2 in Medora
• October 2008: Back to Jamestown for a year to live with Tab
• April 2009: Back to Medora for summer #3
• August 2009: To Boulder, CO for freshman year #2
• December 2009: From Boulder to Broomfield after I was kicked out of my apartment
• May 2010: Back to Medora for summer #4.

That's 13 times since August of 2004.  That's an average of 2.6 times per year.

Now, one would think that with all of my practice at packing and moving that I would be good at it.  I'm not.  I'm pretty bad at it, actually.  More than one carload is too much stuff, and I have about 2 carloads worth.  Thank goodness Kenny and I decided to rent a storage unit to get us through the summer.

What I have improved at is knowing where I put stuff away when I unpack.  When it comes time to re-pack, I know exactly where everything is.  And I know exactly which box everything is in, because it's been in and out of the same box multiple times throughout the past years.  But the problem remains that it's just too much.

When I pack, I like to take my time.  I'll pack a box, then sit down and write for a while.  Then I'll pack a box and eat supper.  Then I'll pack a box and call some friends.  It's a process.  A time-consuming one, but it helps me keep my sanity.  And even though I hate it, there are good things about packing. It's a chance to reorganize things and to get rid of the stuff you just haven't used in forever.  And it means you're going somewhere, which is always exciting.

Usually, when I'm moving to Medora, I'm nothing but excited.  Medora is like a second, maybe even first home for me, as my trailer house is the place I've lived longest in recent years.  This year, I'm very excited, and there's lots of hype surrounding this summer in Medora, but it's also a little bittersweet to be leaving.

CO is quickly turning into a home for me. I'm really comfortable here, and am settling into routines.  I'd like to stay to experience summer on the Front Range.  I'm leaving my boyfriend, and will likely never see him again.  There are lots of things that I'm really going to miss, in no particular order:

• The mountains.  I see them every day on my commute, and they are so, so, so beautiful.  Really.  It's worth a trip through CO just to see the mountains.  I get sad on foggy days when I can't see them.  They're gorgeous.
• Chipotle.  I know this is silly, but there isn't one in the whole state of ND.  Especially not in Medora.
• Recitals.  I'm in the habit of seeing about a recital a week around here, and that really isn't an option in Medora.
• Recycling.  No one recycles in Medora, even though we really, really should.  Especially the bars.  Maybe I'll work on that this summer.
• King Soopers.  King Soopers is my favoritest grocery store ever.  I love having a King Soopers card.
• Kenny.  Because he's Kenny.
• Slacker and Steve.  When I don't get to listen to Slacker and Steve on the radio, my life is incomplete for a day.  This is going to be a whole summer.  I'm going to have to stream them online.  Seriously, people, they are hilarious.  Thanks to Kenny to introducing me to Alice 105.9.
• The hot, Hot, HOT sun.  My hypothesis is that we're closer to it here, so the heat of the sun is really a lot warmer than it is at home.  Even on chilly days, the sun is hot.
• Of course, all of my friends.  Although I don't want to miss anyone so I'm not naming names.
• The folks at the Center of the American West.  They rock.  All of them.
• Voice lessons.  I love singing.  And learning how to sing.  I need to find time to do that this summer.
• Traffic.  I love driving in traffic.

Okay, that's probably not everything that I'll miss, but it's a significant portion.  I leave this wonderful place on Sunday, so wish me safe travels.

And don't worry, the blog will continue in Medora, although the content may not be quite as exciting.

Only in Boulder

Believe it or not, I had no idea that when I decided to attend CU-Boulder, I decided to attend a school that is infamous for being a party school.  Now, really, had I used my brain, I probably could have figured it out.  It's a really big state school, and I feel like those two traits are all that a school really needs to be a party school.

What I had also heard rumors of, of course, was that Boulder was known for its liberalism concerning the use of marijuana, which is rampant and not really curbed by anyone, including the police. I mean, obviously, arrests, etc., are made, but the punishment is a slap on the wrist.

So out of curiosity, and because I'm a nerd, I googled "CU Boulder" a few days after moving in.  I expected to see some cheesy advertisements published by the university itself, maybe a few sports events, some student videos of late-night taco bell runs, and freshman dorm shenanigans.

I am so naive.

Instead of what I would have considered to be normal videos, I saw hundreds of videos celebrating April 20th.  Oh, yes, the infamous 4-20.  I feel like it needs no explanation, but in case it does, April 20th is the famous day for smoking marijuana.  I don't know why, I don't care why.  It just is.  And Boulder being Boulder, 4-20 is bigger than Christmas.

NORML, or the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Regulations, puts on events across the country, and one of the largest is in Boulder.  It's a "protest," or so they say.  Last year, 10,000 students gathered on Norlin Quad, in front of the famous Norlin Library, and smoked pot.  A lot of pot.  

This year, they expected 15,000.  They only estimate that they had 8,000, but as you can imagine, 8,000 people smoking marijuana in one place at one time can be a crowd.  A very stinky crowd.  Peacefully "protesting."  

If you ask me, it's just another excuse to get high.

Now, I'm not just writing this because my parents read this, but I've never smoked.  Not even once.  I tried a cigarette when I was 13 or something, and haven't put any burning device anywhere near my mouth since.  And I find it sad that there are more medical marijuana dispensaries in Boulder than there are pharmacies.  But what of it?

It's Boulder, I guess, and that's all there is to it.  Here's a video from this year's "celebration":

The Conference on World Affairs

Before I really get into my topic today, I need to 1. apologize, and 2. thank you all.  I haven't blogged in well over two weeks, and believe me, it's as much to my dismay as it is to yours, if not more so, and I apologize.  I thought about doing it every day, but I have simply not had the time.  I realized it was time to blog when my mom called and said, "Are you alive?  You haven't even written a blog."  So now that I have a few minutes I'll get into it.  Even though I haven't written, people have still been visiting, waiting and hoping (at least that's how I interpret it) for an update of my life here in CO.  For that I thank you.

So here it is: the number one reason why I didn't blog for at least one week during my dry spell.

Please, if you're a CWA member, forgive me.  I've put this disclaimer in other blogs, but if you haven't read them, you won't know.  This blog is solely for my opinion, and whether or not I offend you is not my deal.  If you don't like it, don't read it.  But if you have any insights, feel free to share them.  I'll listen.

Although it was news to me (as so many things about Boulder are (more to come on that later)), it's no news to Boulder locals.  For the past 62 years, the University of Colorado has been host to what is known as CWA: The Conference on World Affairs.  One of the first things that I learned from Stephanie Rudy (my scholarship sponsor) was that the CWA is an amazing program and that it runs partly with the assistance of student volunteers. 

As she told me, the conference is a very special event.  Over 100 panelists are invited to Boulder to talk about subjects that are important to the world right now, as we speak.  Obviously, the university can't afford to pay to fly these people in, give them money to talk, and house them all.  Instead, each panelist pays for their own flight in and families in Boulder volunteer to house them for the duration of their stay.  Rather than the committees telling each person what they will talk about, each panelist sends in a list of things they would like to speak about, whether they are experts in the field or just interested in the topic.  Once the lists are compiled, the CWA takes an entire weekend to put people (usually 4) together on a panel.  The tricky part comes in naming the panel something fun and catchy that will encourage people to attend while still telling the real idea of the panel.  And the panels are completely unscripted, so one never knows in which direction the topic will go. 

From the get-go, Stephanie encouraged me to get involved, and it really seemed like a good volunteer activity.  It was clearly something that she was passionate about, so I agreed to help out.  My name was put on a mailing list and suddenly I was part of the CWA Student Committee.  The initial meeting was good.  I learned that most students opt to drive panelists to and from the airport, as well as around Boulder, and that sounded just fine to me.  In order to drive university-owned vehicles, student drivers were required to take a defensive driving course that was pretty painless.  And I actually learned stuff!  After I passed the class and went to a few more meetings, it was time for the Conference to actually begin.  At the last meeting, the week before panelists arrived, we received our schedules for the week.  Let me begin by saying this: we presented our availability to the heads of the Committee, and they encouraged us to write down all of our availability and they said that they would schedules us for a few hours here and there, from morning to evening for 9 days.  

What I didn't expect was to be scheduled for 6 of those 9 days.  Still, when I received my schedule, I found it to be manageable.  And at the beginning of the week, I was still dog-sitting, and it was therefore easy for me to get to headquarters to get the car I'd be driving.  My schedule looked something like this:

Saturday: 11:00 am - Airport Arrival - 2 panelists

Sunday: 8:30 am - Airport Arrival - 1 panelist

Monday: Dinner Driver

Tuesday: off

Wednesday: off

Thursday: Dinner Driver

Friday: 7:45 am - Radio Run, Dinner Captain

Saturday: off

Sunday: 6:45 am - Airport Departure - 2 panelists

What I actually ended up doing looked more like this:
Saturday: 10:30 am - Airport Arrival
Sunday: 8:15 am - Airport Arrival, 10:30 pm airport arrival
Monday: 3:45 pm - Airport Arrival, Dinner Driver (until 9:00 pm)

Tuesday: off

Wednesday: off

Thursday: Dinner Driver (until 12:30 am)

Friday: 7:45 am Radio Run, Dinner Captain (until 12:00 am)

Saturday: off

Sunday: 6:30 Airport Departure

Now, please don't misunderstand me, because yes, I am complaining.  However, let me explain the nature of my complaints.  I don't mind jumping in at a moment's notice when I have time, and I don't mind having to be flexible.  However, no one warned  me that I would need to be so flexible.  Also, no one warned me that being involved in dinner meant carting people around until all hours of the morning.  Finally, no one warned me that things would be very disorganized much of the time.  Had I known these things up front, I don't think that I would have been so upset and frustrated.  Had I known that being involved in dinner would mean that I would be going from 3:45 pm to 9:00 pm, or from 5:00 pm to 12:30 am, I would not have given my availability for those time slots.  After finishing on those nights, I still had to drive home and do my homework.  

I do place a bit of blame on the transportation coordinators, although I realize that all of it is definitely not their fault.  In all fairness, there is no way one can predict the promptness of flights.  Also, no one can predict the attitudes of those panelists who think that they need a ride RIGHT NOW, whether or not there is a car ready (those people made me really, really mad).  It is a very big job to coordinate all that they coordinate, though, with flight arrivals and departures, driving people to and from their housers in the mornings and evenings, driving people to and from dinners and to and from the radio station.  There is a lot of unpredictability.  What I will say is that despite my frustration with the system, I'm not sure that there are many better ways to improve on the system.  And I will definitely not say that I could do a better job, because I'm not sure that I could with all of the variables involved.

Even if I had a lot of better ideas, I could never be transportation coordinator.  I recently learned that in my next spring of school, I'll be giving a junior recital.  Now let me tell you: I don't know how many student volunteers actually went to classes during CWA week.  In fact, I heard more than one telling others that they went to one or none of their classes.  That does not work well in music classes, where one is allowed, on the average, 3 unexcused absences without a full letter grade penalty.  Besides, I'm not really a class-skipper.  Never have been (that might be a fib).  And skipping classes the semester of one's junior recital is definitely frowned upon around here.  

Because I'm mostly complaining here, there are more to come.  Next topic: the panelists themselves.  Many, many, many of the panelists have been coming to the Conference for years.  And by years, I mean 25.  Yes, 25.  To me, that seems kind of counter to the idea of the conference, which is about current events.  I mean, yes, the topics change every year, but isn't it boring to hear the same people speak every year, even if they're really good?  Many of those panelists, at least the ones I met, were really nice.  However, there were some who had this attitude: "Well, I've been coming to the conference for 97 years, and therefore know everything, and you are my minion.  After all, I'm the important one here, not you."  Which I guess is kind of true, except that the conference is really focused on sharing information with the students (who generally don't even go to the panels).  I ran into a few of those panelists, the ones who were so self-important that they didn't even talk to me as I drove them to and from their destination, and it wasn't for lack of trying to converse.  If there is one talent that I got from my parents, it's the art of conversation.  I've also learned from many sources how to get people to talk, and that is to ask them about themselves.  Even when I asked them questions about themselves, many gave one-word answers.  I wanted to say, "Yes, you're tired.  I'm tired, too, but am still doing my best.  Yes, you're here because you were invited, but your job here isn't over until you're at home and in bed." 

And here's a complaint, one against myself: the conference is for students, really.  One of the major complaints of organizers and panelists alike is the lack of student attendance.  I personally didn't make it to a single panel, what with my volunteer and school schedule.  But why do students not attend?  I don't know the answer for sure, but from what I heard from some, it's for the reason outlined above.

I'll be honest: there were a few good points to the conference, but for me, they were far outweighed by the negative impression I got from the very first meeting.  Even then, I thought it strange that the organizers didn't even bother to learn the names of their student volunteers.  On Monday, I overheard one of the head organizers say, "We've been doing things the same way for 62 years.  Why change now?"  Again, strange considering this conference is all about today.  Tradition is good, but tradition for tradition's sake is not.  That comment gave me a really bad taste in my mouth (this coming from a conservative Lutheran from ND).  Although I met quite a few people, I haven't seen or heard from any of them since the conference ended.  And I felt that the only reason many students were involved was to rub elbows with important people, which is the exact wrong reason to volunteer. 

Okay, I guess I'm still searching to come up with good things about the conference.  Which is bad, because I know that there are some.  After all, it's really great for a group of forward thinking people to come together and share their ideas with a group of people.  It's also really great for students to get involved in a cause that they feel passion for.  

I think I'll end with a few thoughts.  I asked one of the transportation workers, who could hardly stand up and stay awake by the end of the week, if it was worth it, and she answered "Yes," without hesitation, which I think says something.  Which is, for some people, it is worth it.  Secondly, maybe I'm selfish and wanted to get something out of the whole experience that I didn't.  If I had to guess what that thing was, I would say it would be a new group of friends, who are my peers, who have similar interests.  I didn't really get that, though, apparently, because I haven't seen any of them since then.  Thirdly, I am really grateful for the opportunity to be involved, because I did meet some really nice people, both students and panelists.  And I think I will be involved next year, but in a different capacity.  

I do apologize for whining and complaining so much about this and for giving everyone a bad impression.  This whole experience has reminded me a lot about my summer job in Medora.  (If you're a Medora tourist, you will not want to read what follows.)  In Medora, we do a lot of behind-the-scenes work.  Work that would, if the tourists knew about it, freak them out.  For example: rattlesnake, mouse, and insect control.  After all, we're encouraged not to eat the ice from the ice bins because of the number of dead rodents found in them.  Another example: cleaning the "stars" dressing rooms.  (Yes, I put "stars" in quotes, because... well... yeah.)  They are, for lack of a better word, pigs, and we are the ones who get to clean up after them.  Joy.  Those are the not-fun things that we deal with that the public would never know about.  I liken this to that.  Had I not been involved in the behind-the-scenes aspect of CWA, and only attended panels, I may have found it to be a great experience.  And maybe it really is.  After all, even though we put up with all of that crap in Medora, we keep going back.  Over and over...  Does that make sense?