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As part of a Bachelors in Music each Voice Major is required to take diction classes in French, German and Italian. For the first half of the semester the class functions like a normal university course: the rules are presented to the class by the professor, examples are shown, exceptions are noted, with quizzes and a midterm to follow. Following the midterm the class becomes performance based where each student presents two songs or arias in the language which has been studied and is critiqued by their peers and professor.

After I sang in diction yesterday I couldn’t help but think and brood over all the reasons I absolutely hate singing in diction. Being in a snarky mood, this list expanded to a list of reasons I hate singing. Since for the past 7 months I have blogged about all the reasons I love music I felt it was appropriate to share this list.

Reasons I hate singing:

1. Singing before 10 am is nearly impossible. Diction classes starts at 9:30 and somehow I always end up going first.

2. Performing requires so much multitasking. When I focus on my technique I forget to act. When I remember to use my RLC (rapid, late, and clear) consonants I think more about the sounds of the words and less about their meaning. When I think about my breath support I forget about my jaw tension. The list goes on.

3. Everyone expects you to perform for free, or worse, pay a membership fee. Experience and exposure seem to be buzz words in this area. Do my computer engineering friends get asked to design and code websites for experience and exposure? No. They get offered at least $10/hr.

4. Application fees. Any summer program, competition, or school that you want to apply for requires an application fee of at least $35. Once you pay that you have to pay for an accompanist (typically $50 for a total of 20 minutes of their time), transportation to the audition and lodging depending on when and where the audition is being held.

5. Continuous danger of public failure. Get a C on your EECS 280 project? That’s between you and the autograder. Forget your words, sing a wrong note or crack on a high note? Everyone knows and silently judges.

6. There are so many sopranos. For every part I will ever audition for there will be at least 20 other sopranos waiting in line behind me trying for the same part. If there was a class where out of 20 students only one person could get an A and everyone else failed I would avoid that class like the plague, yet I subject myself to the same thing at audition after audition after audition.

7. If I get less than 8 hours of sleep my voice teacher can tell immediately. However, consistent sleep schedules and college do not work well together resulting in a difficult balancing act of sleep and homework.

8. On-stage romance. Playing the romantic lead is no fun when your on-stage love interest has B.O., bad breath or is just someone you don’t get along with. Sometimes it is really hard to suppress the desire to hit them as they go in for the kiss.

9. I spend about 1.5 hours a day locked in a 5′ x 5′ stark white box which passes for a practice room. During that time frustration reigns as perfection is constantly sought but never achieved.

10. As a vocalist my body is my instrument. This means that indulging in vices from yelling to drinking, sleep deprivation to acidic foods directly affects how I sing, limiting and eliminating their presence in my life.

11. Like many performers, I cannot stand the sound of my own voice. This negatively skews my perception of my vocal ability and career potential, resulting in additional unnecessary stress.

12. I want a career in music so badly that I often finding myself giving up other things so that I can work toward that goal. I have lost friendships and ended relationships for music because I couldn’t find the time to do both.

For every reason I hate music and singing there are 10 reasons I could never give it up. Music has become my vice; it is the itch I must scratch and such an integral part of my life that without it, I wouldn’t know who I was or what I was doing with my life. Still, sometimes it feels good to complain.

“There exists clashing pangs that reverberate between my bullet and chamber. Sitting at the table outside of the café, I could feel my leg fall asleep and escape from the dead-set conflict. How, despite being a part of the same vessel, can there be such… Yearnings, consisting of such empty paths aligned by the flowers of bold promises and blurred people who had spoken as conquistadors of introspection. By all means, this path does not even exist, I am not sure if it is even a path. It is as confusing and as ugly as a modern art masterpiece. The circle of conception and interest has certainly enclosed to the point that we now see rings on the canvas, floating in a foreign space that undoubtedly occupies us.”
Such confusion. The day had been so dashing, yet now, our main character began to be picked apart by himself. Perhaps a change of scene is in order.
Walking down Rue d’Assas, he passed by the lycée at which he had been studying that summer. Turning to the left and crossing the road, past Rue Guynemer, he walked past the gates to Jardin du Luxembourg. At the moment, gently protected by the lush deep green trees of the garden from the coarse sun, he slowly but surely made his way along the gravel towards the fountain the rested within the heart.
As the aligned trees led to an opening, once again the entity strongest dans l’été scorched and tore away at his skin, as if desperately trying to reach the innards. Exposing, especially at the top of his crown, the mind that would sizzle upon exposure to the real world. Yet, there the fountain was.
He rushed towards it, seeing that a gentlemen had just gotten off one of the reclining chairs. Claiming the seat for his own, he quickly made himself comfortable and directed his covered eyes towards the fountain. But, he wanted to see the fountain without the awful tint; he took his sunglasses off.
The surface of the water was covered by wooden toy boats, each hoisting their own colors. Overlooking the fountain was the Palais du Luxembourg, a foreboding building, each individual brick a romantic sentiment, all adding to the luxury of culture. The mind was an excellent thing for creating such a beautiful building. But to give the mind all the credit is unfair.
As it stood, daunting and proud, in its sight, the jewel that accompanies its presence, the fountain, remained littered with boats till the very sky began to darken as the sun began to fall asleep.
The children, in all their ignorance and happiness, were controlling their little vessels, making them dance upon the spirit of the Jardin.

Since when did time traveling become a cliché? After reading and watching so many stories about boys and girls trespassing across time and space to save the world from being destroyed or to simply cause more troubles to people around them, I gave out a snuff when I saw the title of the film: About Time. “Here comes another guy with this magical power to mess with what happened in the past.” Nevertheless, I clicked on the play button without a high expectation simply I got so bored and tired of this eight-hour flight.

The film begins with the monologue of our “extraordinarily ordinary” protagonist, Tim, a college student who is too shy and clumsy to attract the attention of the girl he secretly loves. When Tim was told that he, as all the male members of the family do, could travel in time, predictably, just like most movies about men with previously unknown superpower, we see the serious face of the father and ridicule and disbelief in the son’s eyes.

The film flows relatively slowly as Tim tries out his newly gained ability. He travels back and forth to fix every embarrassing and awkward mistake he makes to leave the best impression before the girl of his dream. Unfortunately, obviously the ability of time traveling cannot help him win the heart of the girl he loves: Tim gets rejected and heartbroken no matter at what point he expresses his feelings to her.

Aiming to be a lawyer, Tim moves to London, where he meets Mary, his love at first sight after a pleasant conversation in Dans le Noir. After a sequence of first encounters when Tim travels back to make sure every detail is perfect, the two finally fall in love. The montage of scenes in the tube station where the two kiss goodbye and depart for work is just so sweet and cute that melted my heart. The stormy, if not catastrophic, wedding scene was one of the most hilarious parts of the film.

Tim realizes the limit of his power after his daughter is born, that traveling to a time before his child is born would affect the child to be born. Knowing this limit, Tim becomes more cautious when using his power. About the same time, Tim’s father is diagnosed with cancer and not long after passes away. Tim keeps traveling back into the past to see and play ping-pong with his dad, until Mary decides to have another child. The decision to have a new baby forces Tim to say farewell to his beloved dad, after which he becomes more mature. At the end of the film, Tim realizes that the secret of happiness is simply to enjoy every ordinary day as if it is the last day of his life.

Such a relaxing and pleasant comedy about love and happiness. I was totally blown away when the ending song began, knowing that this would be one of the films that I would recommend all my friends to watch. You say there is a flowed logic how Tim’s sister is not supposed to be able to travel back because only male members in the family have this ability? Come on, who cares!

My name is–
I am–
But who?

I am street lamps and starlight
Twining silver round your finger
Threading lunar white tresses
Blackening moth wings
In the eye of dawn
Blackening moth wings
Threading lunar white tresses
Twining silver round your finger
I am street lamps and starlight

But who?
I am–
My name is–

Padre Noche