Freeflow of thoughts

I'm not sure why I'm feeling this compelling urge to write. Maybe it's because I've been so bored lately that I'll resort to anything to keep myself sane. Maybe it's because it's after midnight, I have a class in less than 11 hours and I can't sleep. Maybe it's because I've just been thinking a lot lately, and those thoughts occasionally overflow into a sea of words emanating from my keyboard -- often at strange hours of the day or night.

Lately I've discovered many things about myself that I hadn't thought about before, but which make total sense now that they have surfaced. I share these with you now.

1. I am a native Oregonian. However, from the way I react to weather, you would think I was born and raised in California. I grew up with cold mornings and never-ending rain, yet these weather patterns still manage to pose threat to my comfort level. I am not the type of Oregonian who sees a downpour as a carpe diem type of opportunity to spend the day hiking in the woods or mountain biking -- although I love the outdoors. Rather, I am the one who watches rainstorms from the comfort of a well-heated dorm room, under a thick blanket, holding a mug of something warm.

2. I delight in the random and crazy. While on my way to a meeting with my Writing 122 instructor, I discovered that the office I was looking for was downstairs. I was listening to my iPod when I got in the elevator, and the result was profound. When one dares to mix feel-good, defy-the-status-quo type music such as Regina Spektor's "Fidelity" or Natasha Bedingfield's "Single" with the private environment of an elevator, one can't help but dance! I had never before thought of elevator dancing as fun, nor that there were others in the world who shared
this passion. Thanks Facebook!

3. I have really weird interests. For the longest time, I have had this strange obsession with remembering random bits of information, such as phone numbers or addresses of former residences or the date on which something happened. For example, my phone number 13 years ago was 762-1049 (before area codes were required, so this was actually a complete phone number), 11 years ago I lived at 5340 Milwaukie Avenue (in the Sellwood district of SE Portland, now a mecca for artists and trendy boutique-type shops) and I got my wisdom teeth removed December 26, 2006 (which sucked ass, being the day after Christmas.)

4. Another interest I have had for a while was handedness -- I have always enjoyed observing which hand someone uses to write or perform fine motor skills such as unlocking a door or brushing teeth. This interest has become so intense that my life goals include ambidexterity. I'm actually further along than I thought -- my marching band vest doesn't like to zip unless I use my left hand (I'm a righty), I usually use my left hand when unlocking doors with a key and I have no choice but to use my left hand a lot when riding my bike, since the left brake is the only one that works. Apparently I'm not the only one with these weird obsessions.

5. Journalism, although one of the most thankless jobs in existence, is one of the most rewarding. It was the combination of working for the school newspaper and completing both a job shadow and an internship at The Newberg Graphic newspaper that confirmed my goal of working in the print journalism field. However, I'm torn between two areas of newspaper work. On the one hand, I got my start in reporting, and I have a bunch of clips of stories I wrote, some of them actually significant. On the other hand, I also have a passion for copy editing; some may call it grammar snobbery, but I seriously love correcting other people's spelling, grammar and punctuation errors. So my career path is still undecided for the moment.

More to follow. However, it is going on 1 a.m. and I have not slept yet. So I should probably go to bed. Damn it, I'm not tired yet...

Tables and drums

Well before I became a college student, I was told by multiple parties that
the University of Oregon was well known for its political, social and cultural activism. As Week of Welcome approached, I braced myself for the onslaught of petitions, mailing lists and free candy that would inevitably come my way.

Little did I know that the incessant tabling would not cease -- or even lose momentum -- with the beginning of the school year. A month into the school year, just in time for Homecoming and Family Weekend, groups solicited supporters for causes ranging from ending domestic violence to helping save Darfur. Legitimate reasons to spend five minutes on the way to class meandering through the tables, if for no other reason than to simply find out what's going on in the world outside Eugene, outside Oregon, outside the United States.

But tabling is not the only method students use to try to gain support. A couple of weeks ago, while walking back to my dorm room to grab some lunch before my next class, I heard the sound of banging drums. A group of students were trying to show solidarity for the Jena Six, the group of young African American high school students initially charged with attempted murder in the beating of a white student after nooses were hung from a tree.

It wasn't the cause they were fighting for that irritated me. Nor was it the loud drums and shouts. No, what struck a nerve was the fact that these students seemed to be doing nothing but complaining about a group's plight. Not a bad thing in and of itself, but helping a group of people also involves actually getting off your ass and doing something.

Protesting and picketing seems to be an effective starting point for raising awareness of an idea. But if the protestors have no plan to take further action, then they are not truly "fighting" for a cause. They're just making a bunch of noise. And noise eventually disappears into the air until it can no longer be heard.

And if no one hears you "making a difference," are you really making a difference?

Clarinet love

Over the past few years, I have come across several signs of a true music lover. Such signs include: You experience a feeling resembling orgasmic bliss whenever you come across a song/piece of music you haven't heard in years -- but LOVE; You fight tooth and nail for the solo when your ensemble is playing your favorite piece (as I would have in high school if our band had ever played Rhapsody in Blue); and one I've had the chance to experience multiple times: You will go to outrageous lengths to repair your instrument without subjecting it to a music store repair person, and you have a selection of personal favorite homemade remedies for instrument emergencies.

I first experienced the need to self-repair my instrument in February 2007 after an unfortunate pep band accident -- which I don't want to relive but if you really want to know I'll tell you -- caused a transverse fracture in the middle of my plastic clarinet. (For those of you not familiar with medical vocabulary, a transverse fracture is one that goes straight across a bone, or in this case the plastic body of my clarinet. And in my defense, the plastic was old and starting to get brittle.) Luckily I didn't break any keys otherwise I would have had a much more complicated problem. As it was, I had to play my instrument the next day, so I used masking tape and electrical tape to secure the two halves of my clarinet until I could go to the store for Gorilla Glue (which really is the strongest glue on Planet Earth.)

This worked well for about five months, until marching band season started. I hadn't played in the band for a week when the Gorilla Glue finally decided to give in. So I checked out from the UO what I can describe only as the clarinetist's equivalent of the $50 "bargain" car sitting on the side of the road. Once possibly a playable instrument, the homemade pads on the top joint and cracks in the barrel clearly showed that its glory days were well behind it. Still, I needed something to play at that Saturday's game, so I learned to deal with not being able to play any low notes until after I had warmed up for at least 15 minutes.

I carted the POS around until last Saturday, the Festival of Bands. Somehow, while I was helping schlep auxiliary percussion onto the field, my (meaning the school's) instrument was stepped on by a member of another section (you know damn well who you are), this time breaking the lower joint at the bell (what's with all of these lower joint injuries?) Luckily, duct tape was readily available.

I'll take the opportunity now to thank Jordyn Lueker, who was nice enough to loan me one of her clarinets while I wait for my Ebay order to come from New York. My current instrument consists of a hodgepodge of parts from three different clarinets: my mouthpiece, her barrel, the school's top joint, her bottom joint and my bell. Two other cases, currently in my dorm room, house the unusable/extra parts of two other clarinets.

If anything, through the past six months I have learned many things. There are many ways to avoid going to a music store for an instrument repair; many people are more than willing to help in a dire instrumental situation; and you can fix anything with Gorilla Glue and duct tape.

I've had it up to here (gestures at level above head)

...with people who do not seem to be able to share the roads with other people.

At any given time, there are HUNDREDS of people using the roadways within the UO campus. Bikes, cars and pedestrians clog up the paths like last week's hairball that finally got big enough to plug your shower drain.

When people are trying to get from their dorm room to a class that starts in ten minutes on the other side of campus, they are usually on their bike. And they are usually IN A HURRY. Adding more frustration is the clump of star-crossed lovers, groups of four or more friends walking side by side, bicyclists and cars that seem to have no clue where they're going. And of course, the people who are paying no attention to their surroundings because they're ... yakking away on their cell phones.

Finally, after navigating yet another Hairball Clump, I have decided to take matters into my own hands. It's quite simple, actually.

People who are actually trying to get somewhere (particularly in a hurry) have priority over the people who are just walking around socializing. If you see someone tearing through a crowd at breakneck speed and they appear stressed out, let them through. It's the humane thing to do, and it may prevent what I will explain next.

If you really don't feel like moving out of the way, and I have to mow you down in order to get to where I'm going by required time, I will mow you down.

If you happen to be crossing the street slowly (this is just because you didn't feel like picking up the pace. I'm not talking about people who due to their age or disability are unable to cross as fast as hurrying people would like) I will mow you down.

If you happen to be on your cell phone gabbing with your BFF about the hot guy in your psych class or dinner plans tonight, I will mow you down, then celebrate my success with ice cream. Bonus points if, while talking on your phone, you use words like "like," "you know," "prolly" and "legit" at least 15 times each during your conversation and for no comprehensible purpose.

Honestly, I'm not usually this mean, and under normal circumstances I might be more likely to accept your choice to slow down a little. But in a time where success in life depends on your ability to get to where you need to go, when you need to be there, we all need to work together and let people through.

Or get mowed down.