This past week, and the upcoming one, are being spent in Oberlin at BPI. BPI, it turns out, is not just the time of "special campers" coming into the library and demanding that we show them how to photocopy the entire collected vocal works of Telemann. No, BPI is actually, from the participant perspective, a grueling marathon of sitting. A rundown of my day, dear reader:
8am: get up, stand in shower. Mentally prepare for sitting.
8:50am: rush into Black River, acquire coffee which is delicious but must be consumed sans lid, since their current shipment of lids all leak.
9am: Sit in viol class.
10:30am: Cello technique class. Worship at Cathy's feet, from a sitting position.
11:15am: Sit in cello master class. If good day, roll eyes at pretentious, sulky, sullen cellists. If bad day, breathe deeply and repeat the following "I will not punch anyone in the face."
Lunch break: Unless want to eat lunch standing up, sit.
1:45pm: Sit and practice.
3pm: Sit in ensemble rehearsal
4:30-6:40pm: Free time! Have been sitting all day, but too exhausted to do anything else.
7-9:30pm: Sit in rehearsal. Lovely new glittery rosin box=ray of sunshine and topic of amusing conversation with Cathy re: her wearing glittery make-up as a teenager, crinolines, and panniers.
Evening: Email, blog, sit.
The only real news is that I'm once again making a concerted (!) effort to learn bass gamba. Roomate is probably thrilled, for obvious reasons. When I asked Cathy if she would recommend something for me to work on, she said, "on bass? Good!" Hooray for her being enthusiastic! It turns out that whole worshiping her thing is not so much an exaggeration. She plays the proverbial shit out of exceedingly difficult Marais, she can take a completely terrible musician and turn them into a gambist, and she pretty much just thinks a bass line and it comes out of her cello all nicely shaped and nuanced. Perhaps she'd adopt me.
In other news, the real problem here is that everyone is either in high school, acts like they're in high school, or is significantly older. There are a few exceptions, of course, but the social scene here just kind of sucks when you a) don't have any good friends, b) are exhausted at the end of the day, and c) would rather run your head into a wall than watch people of any orientation try to get in each other's pants. I haven't minded being a bit anti-social and coming home fairly early each night. I haven't been out past midnight since I got here. I just find myself sitting in rehearsal wishing there were someone old enough to drink who's young enough to want to go to the Feve. I just have no interest in the BPI party house, where everyone does their mating dances. I really wish JB were here. Part of the reason I decided to come this year was that we had agreed to keep each other sane. I know he can't help not being here, and I certainly don't hold it against him, but in addition to not being here, he also isn't answering my calls or emails. Is it my lot in life to spend my time chasing after people? It's gotten kind of old.
Anyway, the moral of the story is I am kind of sore and need a backrub. I have a pinched nerve in my right arm right now. Ow.
Fin
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