You guys must be into the Eurhythmics!
For every one with dollar signs in his eyes,
There must be hundreds who look at you as if you're some kind of
RHYTHM SECTION WANT AD!
No others need apply to the
RHYTHM SECTION WANT AD!
TMBG in my head! Just those lines, though.
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So, now that we've had eight days off of school (apparently the campus just got full electricity back on Wednesday), we lose our Fall Break (Columbus Day extended weekend). :'-( :'-( :'-( :'-( :'-( :'-( :'-( :'-( But it's not that bad, really. I was planning to come up for fall break, thanksgiving AND a weekend before thanksgiving, in which TMBG are playing two instores sort of around my area. As my informant typed in his e-mail, "Autographs galore! *cha-ching*" So now I don't feel too bad/weird about using so much money for train/bus tickets to go back home so often, as it'll be one less trip (this unexpected foray into EvacuationLand was and will be transported by parents' car).
Speaking of rhythm section want ads, one of the acquaintances I've made @skool (who actually remembered my name? WEEYUHD) saw the drumsticks my dad sent me in my care package and asked if I was a drummer. I told the truth and said that I was planning on taking lessons, and he added that he plays bass. So! I'm thinking maybe the two of us could be like the White Stripes, in that I will learn drums as the band progresses and he will play some sort of guitar (number of strings be damned). And instead of a devilishly simple fashion code, he will wear his The Faint t-shirt all the time and I will wear my Glittery Carousel Pony With The Words 'Las Vegas' Below It t-shirt all the time. Because I've worn that shirt a lot, because I don't know. Then again, I only thought that for about a minute, and then he left my room and continued down the hall with his female friend.
I don't know if I ever mentioned anywhere (online) my planning on taking percussion lessons and the "Wait Until We Get Your Grades" response that my parents had for me. I asked their permission about taking private lessons on campus because everyone and their mother knows that I can't pay for fees more than, say, $3.25 per lesson, while the actual semester fees are 100x as much. Pretty steep, I know, and so I understand my parents' answer. But my dad was obliging enough to send me two pairs of Vic Firth drumsticks and some sort of wooden "drum practice pad" in my care package. This is very cool -- very much a turnaround from after fourth grade, when he said YOU CAN'T TAKE DRUM LESSONS BECAUSE MY HEAD WILL EXPLODE -- but it feels weird to have a practice pad when I have nothing to learn? Eeh.
Apparently before I was born, my aunt and uncle (the latter being a former professional studio-and-various-New-York-rock-club-bands' drummer) gave my older brother (who was maybe one or two at the time) a little kiddie plastic snare drum for Christmas, and by the time they visited our apartment again a month later, they saw the drum sitting in our garbage can. And I don't think my older brother threw it out. I think it's funny how anti-drumming my dad's been, and now he's growing mellower with age or something.
I really hate it when my skin is dry AND yucky at the same time. "Yucky" is a blanket term for hormonal, bumpy, overall pore crap-fest. My face is stretching every time I yawn.
(echo, echo)