So much for that resolution. I can't sign up for the gym right now because on my non-school nights it's my turn to walk the dog, which means the only day I could legitimately go to the gym would be Thursday. Once a week won't do it, and I am not driving to Redwood City on the weekends to work out. It'll never happen, not when I've got everything else going on.
I checked for gyms near where I live. Not so much in the way of gyms. In fact, there's only one in my town and it has limited hours and limited resources. Maybe there's something a little further south. They're rich further south, surely they need more gyms to keep up their fabulous physiques and have a place to wear cute gym clothes.
Today being Columbus Day (and why we celebrate it when Columbus never even touched foot on North American soil I'll never know) a number of places were closed: the banks, the post office, quite a few small businesses. It was quiet at work. I did a fair amount of homework. I got very cranky at one point about the huge number of white male Spanish explorers who came to California and ruined a perfectly good indigenous culture, thus forcing me to have to memorize their names and evil deeds. Yuck.
I nearly stayed home from piano tonight as a result. "Man, I have so much work left," I thought off and on throughout the day. "I ought to have known all this stuff a week ago. I'm going to choke on tomorrow's test." I decided I could afford to miss one class to cram for another, though I was a little concerned about the amount of studying I knew would be necessary. When did I get so far behind? Why didn't I have more of the basic stuff done for history? Sure, I've got my paper narrowed down to a reasonable size and I'm excited about writing that, but in the meantime I have to know who Dona Concepion Arguello was and what the significance is of San Jose de Guadalupe and who established the first presidio, among a million other facts.
On the train home I pulled out all my handouts and reviewed the course syllabus. Oh. Duh. The big test is next week. I'm right on schedule with homework after all. So I went to class and practiced for two hours, and participated in a group performance of a very silly song focusing on syncopated beats. I caught on to the trickier bit because I recognized a similarity to a song from the 80's called "Pop Music". Rest, pop, rest, pop, rest, pop music. I taught it to the others who also remembered the song. My group did really well. Sad, isn't it?
The semester is halfway over, something the teacher brought up. She said we could do three more pieces for credit (looking at the class behind me) or one big difficult piece (looking at me) in the remaining nine weeks. I was sooo right. I'm learning the whole Bach enchilada, er, prelude. I'm going to have to practice that bad boy a lot between now and the first half of December. Why? Because our final isn't in class.
We have to give a recital at home, and then we have to write about it. That's what we'll bring to class on December 16th, our last night. Oh, god. I have to give a recital in front of my friends. I would a hundred times rather play for the class. Strangers are fine. I'm good with strangers. There's no humilation involved.
No, you're not invited. Don't even ask. It's going to be a complete secret who I ask. They will have to swear on a stack of bibles or the Koran or whatever's holy to them not to reveal they've been invited. It's going to have tighter security than a celebrity wedding. Oh, god.
I wonder if my teacher is related to Cortes?
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