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Sunday, 2 February 2003

Synthesizer Madness

All of the synthesizer people went insane today. I got ranty email from all sorts of insane people. Crazy all-customer list rants. Random spite. Weird people. Everyone is very eager to helpfully point out everyone else's flaws and perhaps spit on their ancestor's tombs as well. Crazy people. I'm not opening any more email. Nobody sends nice email. Until the internet decides to play nicely, I'm staying in my corner of the sandbox.

Now I'm paranoid that somebody will stumble across my blog and get upset and send me flamey, ranting email. I wasn't talking about you, hypothetical reader! I hate peole who always think that I'm talking about them!

I failed to get my Mills application in the mail before the last pikcup. Were I applying for studio arts, I would be automatically disqualified from applying. Hopefully the music people are more lax about timing (they usually are (bad joke goes here)). I'll drop it off on Monday morning.

One time, when I was an undergrad, a concert started five minutes late. The head of the department was angry about the timing. It was record-breaking. He didn't show up until ten minutes ater the scheduled start time. It was the earliest a concert had started in anyone's memory. Maybe I'm just repeating old rumors. Grad school is insane. I dodn't know whether it's better to be ranted at over email or in person.

I got email asking if Christi and/or I wanted to be composers for somebody's "Composer Spotlight." Since the composer immediately previous would be Trimpin, I feel a bit underqualified. Maybe they normally have um... emerging artists.

I have a score prepared to submit to Bowling Green's call for scores. I hate my printer. I ran the utility to do seomthing about the double-printing it was doing. Everything had two images. It makes things fuzzy. anyway, I ran a utility to fix this. Everything lines up perfectly . . . on the left hand side of the page. It's wonderful on the far left. The right side is worse than before, but the left side is photo quality. Although it's grossly unfair, and I've just been complaining about people unfairly targetting each other for rants, I beleive my printer problems to be Mitch's fault.

First of all, Mitch owns a t-shirt with the name of the company that makes the printer written across the back. Secondly, Mitch said their printers were ok. There's no thirdly, but it's clear already that Mitch must steal me a printer from his work. They're a printer company. they must have tons of decent printers lying around.

Were I not a highly conscious environmentalist, I would have thrown my printer into the bay by now. The stupid printer was only five dollars more than the print cartridges. This is obscenely wrong. I am not just going to go buy a new printer. I'm going to rant at Mitch instead. No, I'm going to print extremely ugly and somewhat hard to read documents, in at least 12-point font. Maybe 13 point.

I need to print my Bowling Green score. (I also need a title for it, sicne the working title "Trainwreck after one minute, thirty seconds" is probably not the best.) I think I will end up at kinkos or something. It needs to be in the mail monday. On mondays unlike saturdays, you can mail things until midnight and get a postmark on them with that same day. Saturdays, things shut down at 5:00.

Will anyone read through all these paragraphs of rantage? I feel grossly unhappy. I think I will mope all day tomorrow.

Last thought: I have a small flag that flew about the space shuttle Discovery in the first flight after the Challenger disaster. I got it for an essay I wrote on why the US should have a strong space program. Anyway, I remember sitting in my fourth grade classroom and hearing a school-wide announcement that the Challenger had blown up. Sister Magdelena told us to pray for the crew and their families. We turned on the TV in the classroom and watched replays of it blowing up.

This is not why I'm bummed. Maybe I caught depression from Christi or something. She sneezed on me the other day.

Mitch should fix my printer.

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