(no subject)
One of these days I'm going to make a travel blog. But for now:
Two days ago, I would have said I don't know what the hell I'm doing here besides going to class and getting hit on by French weirdos. Class was hard--we had to conjugate all those ugly verbs that really nobody has any reason to use in any tense but the infinitive or the passe compose, and there's no grammar textbook to go with our workbook--and I have no home internet access or time to do things during the day because class runs from 3:30-7 most days and 10:30-7 on Tuesdays. But I feel better now.
I have a theory that doing music makes everthing better for me. I had my first voice lesson yesterday morning, and suddenly I have a more comfortable perspective. French class is still hard, but I like my teachers, even though my grammar teacher has a tendency to answer grammatical questions with "it's like that because it wouldn't make sense/would be stupid the other way," instead of citing a grammatical rule. She's funny, though, and wears really wild pants. They seem so unassuming, since they're tall and thin, but she's got this one red-and-white tie-dyed pair, and yesterday she had these black satin pants with shiny zippers on the pockets. It makes me laugh. My voice teacher knows of a choir director, so I might get to do choir again, which makes me inordinately happy. Also, apparently I might be a twitterbitch! (For those of you who didn't take music with Mr. Rosenberg, "twitterbitch" is a derogatory term for a coloratura soprano, which is the kind of soprano that hops up and down her register really quickly. The teacher thinks I might be because I was hitting high Bs with no effort while she tested my range--which had never happened before, and I hope it wasn't a fluke--but I'm generally uncomfortable singing things higher than F. So she suggested that I can go high; it's just that I'd rather not stay there.) I would be amused if this turns out to be the case.
I have to write this BS essay tonight about what the word "voyage" means to me in French. Ugh.
Two days ago, I would have said I don't know what the hell I'm doing here besides going to class and getting hit on by French weirdos. Class was hard--we had to conjugate all those ugly verbs that really nobody has any reason to use in any tense but the infinitive or the passe compose, and there's no grammar textbook to go with our workbook--and I have no home internet access or time to do things during the day because class runs from 3:30-7 most days and 10:30-7 on Tuesdays. But I feel better now.
I have a theory that doing music makes everthing better for me. I had my first voice lesson yesterday morning, and suddenly I have a more comfortable perspective. French class is still hard, but I like my teachers, even though my grammar teacher has a tendency to answer grammatical questions with "it's like that because it wouldn't make sense/would be stupid the other way," instead of citing a grammatical rule. She's funny, though, and wears really wild pants. They seem so unassuming, since they're tall and thin, but she's got this one red-and-white tie-dyed pair, and yesterday she had these black satin pants with shiny zippers on the pockets. It makes me laugh. My voice teacher knows of a choir director, so I might get to do choir again, which makes me inordinately happy. Also, apparently I might be a twitterbitch! (For those of you who didn't take music with Mr. Rosenberg, "twitterbitch" is a derogatory term for a coloratura soprano, which is the kind of soprano that hops up and down her register really quickly. The teacher thinks I might be because I was hitting high Bs with no effort while she tested my range--which had never happened before, and I hope it wasn't a fluke--but I'm generally uncomfortable singing things higher than F. So she suggested that I can go high; it's just that I'd rather not stay there.) I would be amused if this turns out to be the case.
I have to write this BS essay tonight about what the word "voyage" means to me in French. Ugh.