Little Things

I am coming down off a little anger spat. Anyone who has spent a lot of time with me should know my propensity to get worked up and spittin' mad over stupid little things that frustrate me. When I was 10 or so, I had a screaming match with a babysitter who insisted there was no ground beef in the fridge we could use to make Hamburger Helper. I distinctly recall shrieking behind a slammed-shut bedroom door at this poor girl.

Today my anger is directed at laundry.

I spent most of my day yesterday in Olympia, drank too much coffee, and got home late with twitchy eyes and a strong need to pass out in bed. I didn't wake up until after 8, but I needed to do laundry soon thereafter. I have a lot of shit to do today, I'm meeting friends for a movie at noon (free tickets to Down With Love through Josie, Landmark Theaters Employee and Friend), and dammit, I think I'm out of clean underwear. Like hell they'd dry in a couple hours in MY poorly-ventilated and hairdryer-free apartment if I washed them in the sink, so don't hand me that suggestion.

So anyway, I get on the laundry attire--weird mauve paisley lounge pants, white cotton tank top, blue hoodie with pockets, and "OLYMPIAN" flip flops--and gather the necessities--bag o' quarters, wad o' keys, laundry detergent, and basket of filthy unmentionables and mentionables alike, only to discover both machines have just been filled by my upstairs neighbor. Who is very apologetic. I muttered something like, "Both of them? Crap, this is the only time I have to do laundry," which was a bit hyperbolic, but still. I'm going to have to wait until *after* the movie now, which will suck if I am, in fact, out of underwear.

Let me check. Oh, yay, there is one pair!

This still makes my day a bit on the stunted side in terms of productivity. I still want to hit up the street fair and if if maybe there are cool things that don't cost too much money I want. In the past, I've bought small photographic prints (of a crucifix half-submerged in snow somewhere in Eastern Europe) and maybe coffee-scented candles, but not much else. It's still fairly interesting. I might do that before the movie, though. But the larger problem of, oh, schoolwork remains.

So, how about some text that isn't me complaining?

I saw some Capitol Area Youth Symphony Concerts last night. The Junior String Philharmonic and the Youth Philharmonic, I think. The former group consisted more or less of people who'd only been playing a year or two, and consequently was painful to hear. In between were two soloists: a pianist (whom my mom says is also an amazing cellist) and my brother the bassist, with his long-time music teacher accompanying him on the Steinway. They were both wonderful.

The pianist did a piece called "At Sea" by Ernest something which was quite riveting. She just sat down and massaged the piece out of the keys. Maybe shiatsu or something, cos she was really fucking fast. I love watching people play piano when they know what they're doing, so I really enjoyed it. The girl was actually involved in a small ensemble with my brothers a few years back, doing a Shostakovich piece. My brother also did a lovely piece, but I don't have as much to say about that as I do the next group. He's my brother; he's usually very good. He works hard at it. I don't know how to judge.

The Youth Phil, I think, was a much better group than my brother made them out to be. He said they sucked. They were responsible for premiering a piece CAYSA commissioned him to write for them, because they are missing several key instruments but have some odd ones. They included the only male harpist I've ever seen. The piece, Nachtlied, Op. 8, was an opera, with lyrics by his girlfriend--and was introduced as such by the conductor. His girlfriend is a self-proclaimed Holocaust expert. At age 15. The lyrics are very "dark," to say the least. They had a baritone sing it. Honestly, the only weaknesses I could detect were that the singing often overpowered the music, at least in volume, and the cellist didn't seem particularly strong.

A large group of Paul Boosters (and a few Sarah Boosters, i.e., her parents) were seated among the sparse audience. Besides my immediate family, including my just-arrived-home-for-a-week sister, my only living grandparents, one of mom's brothers, Koko, my dad's sister and her youngest son and his wife, my brother Sua and his wife, daughter, and mother-in-law, and two old family friends who stopped by on their way home from Portland. Before the concert was a big party with lots of good food for this group of family, which can be fun.

It reminded me of a scene in The Addams Family movie where Wednesday and Pugsley perform a swordfighting death scene and spray tons of very red stage blood all over an audience of normals, all of whom react with stunned silence. The Addamses, of course, stand up and applaud voraciously. In this case, of course, everyone *did* applaud and no actual stage blood was spewed, but I'm not sure everyone else thought it was too great. But we sure did!

Paul and Sarah took the comparison to the Addams Family as a compliment.