Last night a group of us girls got together to pray and think about our God. One of the girls had an interesting idea: what if we wrote a story together. Each of us would write a sentence of the story, and at the end we would read it aloud. But there was a catch: none of us could see what the previous people had written. So here is our finished masterpiece:
Bob was on his way to the fair when his car broke down. Bob was eating corn flakes while combing his hair. Bob ate a cheeseburger at Wendy’s, and then he got a milkshake at McDonald’s. THEN a pterodactyl came and picked up Bob, flew 1,000 feet in the air when it dropped him, BUT Bob married Suzie and had 3 kids. Bob’s girlfriend broke up with him today. Bob loves cookies. He had his secret cookie jar hidden in the refrigerator. Bob likes preaching in front of many children every weekend. After eating a nutritious (and therefore tasteless) supper, Bob juggled knives and flamethrowers while standing in a pool of gasoline until bedtime. Then he went to sleep.
Ok, so besides the humor it provides (and the evidence that food seemed to be on the brain), you are probably wondering what this could possibly have to do with God or prayer. The girl who had the idea of the story in the first place explained it: the Christian Bible is written by about 45 people over a period of up to 2,000 years. Now, our story was random. It was written by 10(ish) people in about 10 minutes. But when you read and examine the Bible you find an incredible amount of thematic unity. The Bible never contradicts itself (like our story did when mentioning Bob’s wife and his girlfriend…awkward!) because even though 45 human authors were involved, they each were guided and directed by the same Author through the whole process. The Bible is God’s book. And it is incredible evidence to the fact that He never changes.
Today is a very special day. No, I’m not referring to Alban Berg’s 127th (if I did the math right) birthday, nor the fact that in 1633 Galileo was being tried for his scientific theories, nor the interesting bit of trivia regarding St. Valentine’s beheading in 278 (poor guy! He died before his own name-day!!). No, there is something that makes today even more special. You may be wondering what could possibly be more important than a composer’s birthday or the deaths of 2 historical figures. Well, I’ll tell you the answer: a Soprano’s birthday. Of course, she’s not a known Soprano. Yet. But she will be. Just you wait. So celebrate with me, and someday when she’s rich and famous maybe she’ll throw us a party just because. 😉
Sometimes it just seems a bit too much. Then I have to echo the words to Leonard Bernstein’s song, “I hate music.”
I hate music, but I like to sing
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, laaaa!
But that’s not music! Not what I call MUSIC, no sir!
Music is a lot of men with a lot of tails making lots of noise like a lot of
Music is a lot of folks in a big dark hall where they really don’t want to be
at all with a lot of chairs and a lot of heirs and a lot of furs and diamonds!
Music is silly
I hate music…but I like to sing
And then I hear a wonderful song or symphony or concerto, and the love all comes back to me and I remember: I really do love music after all. But that would still be a fun song to sing. Just for shock value, you know?
You and I used to be friends. Maybe not besties, but we were always friendly toward each other. But you used to be kind enough to load when I asked you for a song. Now you are unresponsive. What happened to our friendship? Perhaps you are mad at me because I miss Lala? I would declare war on you if there was anywhere else I could go for music, but honestly, Pandora just doesn’t cut it. So please, dear Grooveshark, be my friend again?
In heartfelt sincerity,
You know, it really is quite remarkable how sleep (or the lack thereof) can affect one. What is even more remarkable is that whereas young children beg to be allowed to stay up late, college students beg to be allowed to go to bed early. Well, I am pleased to be able to tell you that I accomplished said feat. Last night I went to bed at 9:30. It was beautiful. No longer does the overwhelming fatigue plague my steps. Not to say that I’m not still tired, it’s just a more “gentle” tired, if there is such a thing.
I started a new tatting project!! Actually, I started it last week…but I was hoping to have more done on it before telling you all about it. But I am a procrastinator. And school and opera have eaten my life. I haven’t done much on it yet, but it’s at least started. All that to say, I’m tatting the edging to a handkerchief. It’s ordinary white, but white is classy,and I think it might end up coming out well. I’m excited to see how this project comes along. But I must admit on the front end that I’m kind of scared about the time commitment that may be involved. I’ve only done small projects before and this will test my skills and love of tatting.
Wow. I told you Opera was going to take over my life. Usually people tell college kids not to flirt with each other…but our director told us flirting is good on stage. Go farther with it, he asked us, we’ll tell you when you’ve taken it too far. I had to laugh. So now all of us lonely (or otherwise) musicians are flirting, or at least pretending to, with each other.
Then the old mad gypsy lady comes and sings her aria recounting probably for the hundred-millionth time the story of how her mother came to be burned at the stake. We are all bored out of our skulls, and since it is early morning anyway, it seems a good time for an impromptu nap. Her (idiotic) son, having heard the story at least as many times as the rest of us still finds it in his heart to ask her about the story. As if he didn’t already know every detail. The old woman has been babbling on about the story for
centuries years now.
And then finally someone takes pity on all of the rest of us who are bored out of our skulls and interrupts the old lady. Heaven bless him!!! He says it’s time to go get breakfast. I think like him. He has his priorities right: Food comes first. He’s a good man.
Opera. It will now be taking over my life. I’m so excited!!!!!! I’m a factory worker Gypsy. So I go out on stage, have fun with my friends, sing a few lines, and walk off. Easy, right? Let’s hope so. Is it bad that I really, really want to be a drunk Gypsy?
Oh, and by way of an update, my novel is up to 15,000 words now. Hooray for me!!! It’s up to date on the page. The link is above.