I just got back from a church conference in San Marcos, TX (here’s what Wiki has to say about the city), and during those four days, I marveled at new facets of spirituality not yet experienced by my limited soul. Needless to say, the speakers who expounded on their experiences with the divine were amazingly interesting, and the three and a half hour drive was completely worth it.

Before that, there was a whole lot of aural stimulation with the Lifehouse and Augustana concerts. I am in love with live music–especially when artists become engrossed in their music and totally rock out. It’s good stuff. Pics to come later (but only if my friend decides to upload them on Facebook; I forgot to bring my camera).

The sun and I have a love/hate relationship. I hate the heat. I love melanin. I hate skin cancer. I love conforming to societal standards of beauty. Absorbing the suns rays seems to be the only way to that end. At least I’ll die tanned?

Aaaaaand, I’ve been reading a lot. Well, that’s a lie. I’ve been buying a lot of books and reading some. You know those classics that you were supposed to read sometime in your high school career (or before)? I’ve started amassing heaps of mind enhancers like Tess of the d’Urbervilles, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, The Jungle, Lord of the Flies. There are more. It’s kinda scary, but I hope that by the end of the summer I’ll get through most of them. Right now I’m sampling a little Kerouac - in preparation for upcoming road trips - and throwing in a little American Civil War lit with The Red Badge of Courage. Stephen Crane seems to have this uncanny ability to induce slumber for me, though.

So, apparently, does talking about him. I’m tired. Good night, peeps.

Remember how I said I’m a vomit blogger? I really do blog in stretches, and typically if there hasn’t been anything out of the ordinary, I can go for weeks, if not months, without blogging. Updates? Well, I’ve been running more, swimming more, and definitely hanging out a lot more.–not just with friends my age, even. I’ve taken to visiting older family friends, and you know what I realized? They’re pretty freaking amazing.

Older couples are so interesting. They have so many facets to their lives (probably because they’ve actually lived them) that they can spend hours talking about themselves and not repeat anything. You know that stigma attached to the elderly marking them are droning, monotonous space-takers? Not the case at all, and mind you, I totally used to adhere to that school of thought. During my senior year in high school, I either had to oversee or participate in every activity geared towards the older crowd. There were the Seniors’ Garage Sale, the West U Thanksgiving Luncheon, the Christmas Ball–all of which targeted the geriatrics of the community. Suffice it to say I was not pleased.

Now, I recognize how awesome they are. They have depth. They have substance. They phrase their sentences correctly, with regard to grammar and vocabulary. They don’t punctuate every third word with a “like,” “totally,” or “uh.” They are so starkly different from many of my vapid-minded peers that I sometimes am embarrassed of my previous conceptions of cool.

Summer Lesson Number One: Old people are, like, soooooo totally cool.

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I was already so content with Gin Blossoms that of Montreal completely robbed me of speech. And motion. And anything other than the utmost admiration. For someone who HAS to move around when listening to music, I think my placidity during of Montreal’s performance is a testament to how much I respect them. You don’t get it. My friends were alarmed when I just gazed lovingly (and immobile) at the stage. Please go listen to some of their music now. Thanks.

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Interspersed throughout the weekend, I was also rehearsing/performing a bunch of Renaissance pieces at St. Peter Catholic Church with the professional British vocal ensemble Alamire, the Rhodes Singers and the rest of the Women’s Chorus. The stark contrast between the music I was jiving to at night and the harmonies I contributed to in the daytime was most refreshing and pleasant. I always get a thrill when I see music transcend centuries just like that.

I very sneakily approached the Alamire people and asked for a quick picture. Being the awesome people I knew they were, they very quickly assented. A great looking (and talented) bunch, are they not? And I guess the Rhodes Singers/Women’s Chorus are okay, too.

*Oh, and all the Rites photos are courtesy of Courtney Church. She’s the girl farthest to the left on the last picture. Major kudos to her for picture sharing!

For the real version of the song, click here. “Gotta Get a Gimmick” was super fun, raunchy, and perfect for Cabaret. Another one of the favorites was a parody of “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” from Lion King. As you can see in Exhibit B, Cabaret’s Simba (he’s the one perched on the platform with a wig, rouge, and skirt) is slightly less masculine than Disney’s version.

What else have I been doing? Well, right after Cabaret was Battle of the Bands, put on by RAB. I swear, each and every one of those groups was terrific. My soon-to-be roommate played the electric violin with her band, and they were EXCELLENT. Basically, the top two winners of BotB get to perform with the official (paid) bands for Rites of Spring, the RAB sponsored concert put on every, well, spring. Here’s a screen shot (I was lame and only got videos) of the winners, The Welfare State, who seriously need to start making music professionally. When they first got on stage, I was under the impression that they were your average college boys who got together on weekends to rock out - badly. I was most mistaken. My apologies for the shoddy quality of the image.

Anything else I need to fill you in on? Oh right, there’s that entire week of bliss more officially termed Spring Break. I went to California, specifically the SanFran region. Visited friends who go to college there. Distracted them from work. Studied for Neglected the midterms that I knew were awaiting me upon my return. Did tourist-y things: Golden Gate, Alcatraz, Chinatown, Fisherman’s Wharf. Ate. a lot. Here’s Exhibit C for the eating a lot.

College life is great. Midterms? Not so much. Also, attempting to write a grammatically sound blog. Nope. Intense student-ing has rendered my brain capable of communication in full sentences only in formal situations. Must study now.

Peace, peeps.

On that note (haha, get it? puns are the best), I’d like to expound on how much individual (possibly emerging) artists have affected the lives of my roommate, me, and our friends. Let’s take a look at the reactions elicited by the judges’ rejection of a certain sweet crooner on American Idol:

Pathetic, no? Just kidding; I love these gals (and truthfully, I was making a very similar face off-camera). Reality television has taken over our lives. Sometimes I feel guilty just whiling away the hours staring at a brightly-lit screen - ironically, just what I’m doing now - but am mollified by activities like musical practice and attendance of awesome Rhodes productions like:

THE VAGINA MONOLOGUES.

My arm hairs got quite a workout from just watching these women relate the stories of their abused, ostracized, sheltered, shy, beautiful peers. The performances were stimulating, motivating, captivating, and altogether sensational. I honestly had to dab at the corners of my eyes during the most heart-wrenching of monologues and repeated that motion as I roared at the ear-splitting orgasms that defined the following act. An amazing show filled with amazing women, it was.

Sadly, that performance was more than half a month ago (I told you; I’m a vomit blogger), and the inspirational effects have worn off a bit. My fellow students have been engaging in sickening amounts of this ridiculous habit of “studying” while I laze around because my body forces me to. Yes, the flu bug has bitten me, but I refuse to allow it domination of my life.

In the midst of midterms, I sip the herbal tea that my mother has most lovingly sent me. My spirits are kept aloft by the shining beacon known as - dare I say it? - Spring Break, and I continue - in all aspects of my life, yes, even the academic - defying the gravity that threatens to engulf me.

Class

is

canceled.

And trust me, I’ve heard a lot of pretty words today, ranging from paradiso & sueno (in reference to the lovely isle of Puerto Rico) to macaroni and cheese (in reference to the antidote for a growling stomach).

Those words are so uplifting, I feel like launching into some Josh Groban or, or leprechaun side kicking or, I dunno, making daisy chains.

I wander by the mailroom ridiculously happy. No real mail for me–typically this would put a damper on any good mood, but no, not today: still ear to ear. Head to Trez (my dorm), most animatedly greeting some girl I don’t even really know along the way. Collapse in my chair. Blog. My cheek muscles are starting to hurt. My front teeth are actually dry from the exposure.

You can tell I’m exhausted, huh?

Swing dancing lessons are amazing–especially if a good friend of yours is the instructor. Today, we sort of deviated from the presumed genre of dance, and instead, we chose to try out something of a Blues-ier nature. The bodies were closer, the music sultrier, and the moves ever so much riskier. Amidst the outside/inside turns, dips, and even lower dips, I got into the dance and kept repeating to my giggling partner (I was lead; the girl:boy ratio was slightly skewed.), “Dude, I’m so good at this game!”

Last weekend we had a wonderful formal sponsored by the Big Diehl and Panhellenic Council most aptly named the “Spring Soirée.” I, of course, dressed as the title of the event suggested–in a red and white frock exploding with budding blossoms, and since springtime conjures images sun-kissed shoulders and sandals, I neglected to bring my jacket. I also neglected to realize that it was the beginning of February and that temperatures dipped as low as couples did on the dance floor. I was sooo bad at that game.

On the flip side, as a bunch of my friends and I were being transported from the campus to the venue, we passed through a residential area, and I remarked on how cool it would be if the soirée happened to be at a huge, well-lit mansion a la “The OC.” Guess what? It was at the Pink Palace. Game++!

And I definitely can’t forget my dorm life. My roommate Melissa and I have embarked on this reciprocal venture in which she teaches me to crochet, and I teach her to knit. Melissa is amazingly good at the game.

Note her already substantial knit-age. Note my lack of a picture.

In honor of Valentine’s Day, my REALLY GOOD AT THE GAME hallmate Grace just came in with two big bag of goodies for my roommate and me. I have to put this [not at all] reenacted picture on here.

Man, life is awesome. Friends are awesomer. I gotta say, I’ve been pretty good at that game. Happy Valentine’s Day [EST]!