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The importance of practicing guitar with a metronome

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The importance of practicing guitar with a metronome by Tennyson Williams
Eventually there comes a time in a guitarist's life when he or she decides that it is necessary to clean things up a bit. I have seen so many guitar players work with sloppy riffs, and unsynchronized timings, until one day they make the "decision of precision".
1. The decision of precision and why it is important
You should understand that no matter how far you want to take your playing on the guitar, there is always room for cleanliness and finesse. If you are going to spend a lifetime playing the guitar, you might as well do it to the best of your capabilities.
The great invention that bestows perfect playing is none other than the metronome, and I strongly believe that a guitarist who does not work with one, at least every now and then, is wasting talent. We all have the ability to play at a phenomenal level, no matter the choice of music.
A metronome facilitates all speeds of guitar playing or music in general. If you plan on playing something slow - use a metronome. If you plan to work on something fast - use a metronome.
The biggest reason for this is simply the fact that when we practice, our hands tend to move a little faster than they are capable of. I can go a little further in that statement, by explaining that our hands tend to move faster than our minds.
Remember this, control over timing, speed, and fluid movement is determined by the brain. This is also why a lot of guitar players never move forward with their speed goals. They don't understand that its a 50/50. Fifty percent of precision and speed comes from the physical properties of the hands, like muscle memory, and the other fifty percent comes about by the mind's strength and focus. These two factors must always be working in unison, in order to make the best of your playing.
2. Training with a metronome
Working with a metronome is not hard, but at first it can seem a little boring. If you can stick with it consistently for a few days, you will start to notice a large amount of progress in your playing, and then the progress itself becomes a lot of fun.
A metronome is your best friend, because it tells you what's really going on. It works with you to clean up your playing and make great progress, as long as you are willing to work with it and not against it.
It reminds me of this program Quicken, which is used to manage your finances. Its amazing, because everyone who starts using it always comes back with the same response. "I had no idea that I was wasting so much money on useless things, and now that I see where my money is going - I can correct this for a better financial status!".
Though its and odd comparison, Quicken and a metronome both have something in common. They both can help you determine bad habits. In other words, they contain a lot of strange wisdom and help you to see the light.
No one can possibly progress in anything in life until they see what is holding them back.
If you really want to make great progress with a metronome, then here are some tips, and these tips can be applied to working with chords, or simply notes and other techniques.
a) Always start something new at an insanely slow amount of speed.
b) When you are working at this slow rate of speed, your objective is to establish perfect clarity with notes, chords, or other techniques.
c) Building a good foundation with a chord, chords, lick, riff, note, notes techniques, is the key to true progression. Speed should be in the back of your mind, as it will come naturally if you can play smoothly at increasing tempos.
d) Practice all things on the guitar with a different variation. If you can play one lick with strictly alternate picking, then work on that same lick with strictly legato. Play an exercise backwards, forwards, east and west.
e) Work with exercises in 4ths, 8ths, and 16ths, and do this at varying tempos. Remember, the more notes or pick strokes, the more you should decrease the tempo of the metronome.
f) Try practicing complete rhythms and chord structures with a metronome.
Conclusion and final advice
I have talked about for years the importance of keeping a practice journal. This is obvious, as you simply jot down your daily progress, in as much detail as you can muster.
However, there is something that needs to be said for this. I don't care how well you were doing the day before, when you get ready to start the next day's practice routine - you must slow things down.
Spend a good half hour going through all of your exercises at mind exasperatingly slow rates of speed. When you are doing this, be aware of the feelings inside your hands, especially the picking hand.
The best way that I can explain this to you is to have you imagine yourself getting into your car, on a cold winter's day. Let's pretend that you didn't take the time to let the car warm up first, and you instantly get started on down the highway.
Under these conditions, it is common for a car to have trouble getting past a speed of 50 miles per hour. The accelerator is stiff and stubborn, and you can literally feel and hear the engine's response. The motor simply is not ready to go beyond 50 mph. It hasn't woken up yet, but once it does, the accelerator loosens up considerably and the car smoothly moves ahead.
This is exactly how the hands function when you first start practicing. Keep this analogy in mind, because when your hands are ready to actually start practicing, you'll know it. On some days it takes a little longer for them to get warmed up, so be patient! don't push them when they are not ready to go. When they finally kick in - you'll know it, and you can actually start practicing for real and strive for progress.
If you can discipline yourself enough to always incorporate these factors into your training, then the world is yours!

About the Author
Tennyson Williams has been studying guitar for eight years, sixteen hours a day, and has studied many styles of music. He has recently written a guitar instructional book called The Essential Guide To Guitar Virtuosity that can be found at
http://www.guitarspeedsecret.com/
Thanks Tennyson Williams and Goarticles.com
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Technorati Tags : metronome guitar speed playing progress work start hands practicing slow play learn to play acoustic guitar

Learning Classical Guitar the Right Way

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Learning Classical Guitar the Right Way by Ben Dressen
Beginners can sometimes feel overwhelmed when they start learning classical guitar. The technique, sight reading, interpretation and the whole complexity of the experience can make one feel a bit anxious about what proper steps should be taken to gain visible results. It doesn't help that classical music as a whole conjures up images of snobbish people that aren't very interested in letting someone in their private circles.
Well, it's not like that at all. Learning classical guitar can be fun and rewarding if you keep in mind the things we will be discussing in this article. and no, it's not mandatory to wear your tuxedo, pull out a monocle and start speaking in a "highbrow" tone.
Jumping straight into complicated material is one of the biggest mistakes that beginners make and it leads only to frustration. Imagine for a second that you are trying to work on your car's engine with the blueprint in front of you. Now, if you have never taken an auto mechanic course and don't know much about how engines work you won't get very far. You might be able to figure out where certain parts are by looking at the blueprint but you'll have no idea what exactly they do and how you should fix them.
If your car engine would be your guitar playing, then your blueprints would be the sheet music. But there is another component that must be brought into the mix for things to work. Either take classical guitar lessons or teach yourself using a classical guitar method such as the one by Mateo Carcassi or Sagreras.
These books have been written in such a way as to gradually give you tangible results. Because they are method books, they teach the student in a progressive and correct way, and as a result you may find yourself tackling your favorite piece easily and with great results. They use exercises as well as "studies" (musical pieces devoted to teaching you a certain technique) to build your technical as well as interpretative skills. Besides teaching technique, methods also facilitate intimate knowledge of your instrument, which is just a fancy way of saying that you will know your guitar inside and out. But can you really teach yourself classical guitar? Yes, you can. Two of the greatest classical guitar players ever, Tarrega and Segovia, where self taught.
In the beginning it is a good idea to spend at least half of your practice time doing exercises. This will help you become more limber on the guitar and you will also see great progress in the pieces you're working on.
After you get a classical guitar method and you start working it, the next step is getting some material so you can build your repertoire. Pick carefully so that you balance your own personal taste with the level of the piece. In other words, the piece you choose should be one that you like and at the level that you can handle technically.
You may go to a gym wanting to be Arnold Schwarzenegger, however trying to weight lift 250 pounds when you can barely get 70 pounds off the ground isn't the way to do it. If you do attempt it, instead of bigger muscles you will probably end up in the hospital. It's the same thing that's happening when you attempt to play pieces that are way above your current level. Having said that, it should be noted that it's good to get pieces that challenge you a little bit. This makes you grow. You will have to use your good judgment as to what constitutes challenging. Just like getting a hernia isn't a muscle building technique, playing way above your level will only lead to failure and frustration.
Because of the nature of baroque music and of his compositions, Bach's works are extremely conducive towards gaining great balance and technique on the instrument. Therefore, any student would benefit immensely by learning from the master's material. Bach's pieces are also great for developing great tone and they are fun to play. For example: Prelude BWV999 (originally for lute), while incredibly beautiful in its sound is also great for working with the fretboard hand because it is based on a series of chord progressions combined with a loosely melodic bass line.
If you don't own a metronome, GET ONE! Learn to play slow and in time with it. This way you will form all the right reflexes and once you move the material up to speed the difference will be clear. Arguably, mastering rhythm with a metronome is an essential quality that will separate the amateur from the pro. To the people that may scoff at this and not understand the true importance of working with a metronome, think of it this way: imagine something as simple as a person walking across a hallway. If I ask you to describe them you would probably tell me what they looked like, what they had on and so forth. Now imagine another person walking across the hallway, but this guy is very shaky on his feet, he sometimes double steps, stumbles and flails his hands about trying to keep balance while walking. If I asked you to describe this guy, you'd probably tell me that he had a crazy walk, and he couldn't walk straight etc.. That would be the impression that would stick with you. Same with your rhythm skills. If you don't master them, people won't be able to remember or appreciate your playing because their attention will constantly be distracted by the tempo stumbling and bumbling about.
If you follow the steps noted above you will see great improvement in your overall classical guitar playing. Not only will this affect your playing but also your enjoyment of the instrument. As you follow this route you will see results and feel satisfaction. Like a veil being lifted, you will be able to see the path you must follow and pretty soon you will be tackling with great ease and elegance the piece that seemed so hard a while back. As always, if you need some advice as to the material you should be pursuing, or what book you should get, feel free to drop me a line.

About the Author
Ben Dressen has studied classical guitar>>http://www.rezzonator.com/, performed and taught in both Europe and the United States. He brings a wealth of information that is based both on classical principles that have stood the test of time and modern real-world techniques that give results. For an example of the Bach's Prelude
> http://www.rezzonator.com/ba.html Thanks Ben Dressen and http://www.goarticles.com/
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mmm brainsss

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Brad: DONT shoot the car.
*moron shoots the car*
**car alarm**
Brad: GOD DAMMIT you GOD! I SAW YOU! YOU WERE A F'ING FELON! YOU WERE A FELON! OH GOD THE HUMANITY!
*Brad falls on the floor**
Brad: Help me somebody help me! Behind the van! BEHIND THE VAN! guys you f***kers on the van. YOU HELP ME NOWWW. God dammit you felon, you piece of shit felon. We gotta get some help!

Hello ppls! :D i havent been blogging about anything interesting or funny so i thought why not make this entry be less serious and more about happier things eh? its gonna be quite a long entry with a couple of videos and pictures on the lower half of the entry. well I was searching for left4dead videos on youtube and i stumbled upon a couple of videos that just made me laugh over and over. partly because it has happened to me, ashri, my bro and fauzie once or its just plain funny. Especially for the car alarm part. Of course our reactions weren't as awesome as this guy's but the same thing happened! I guess sometimes its just funny to see everyone panic ahha. this is to show you guys what it really looks like when SOMEBODY decides to shoot the car and sound off the alarm. anyways I went to CCK's gym alone just now around 8pm and i reached there around 850pm so i only had 1hr and 10 mins to work out. I thought that theres not gonna be enough time but it turns out that it was just nice for 1 person. I trained my chest and triceps for today. im telling you, its so much harder when somebody isn't supporting me when i do things like the vertical chest thingy. The first few tries were quite hard but as i went on, it got easier. I skipped the last gym session because i was really sick so i can't afford to miss anymore. Stopped around 955 and walked all the way from CCK Stadium to CCK Mrt station. LRT'd home and i got back around 11pm. Oh and i have this habit of not showering the moment i step into my house ahha. im such a lazy ass at times :x. pfft, what a pig. dont worry im all showered up by now if you're wondering.

Alright here more left4dead videos by the same guy. the first video is self-explanatory so i shall not spoil the fun. The 2nd video is his friend being the last survivor. His reaction for the hunter that popped out of nowhere is almost the same as ours without the constant cursing of course hahaha. the funniest part about the 2nd video is when he says 'this time, this game is my bitch.... except right now!' and he starts cussing so fast LOL. i have no idea how many words he can squeeze in 5 secs man. you have GOT to listen to it ahha.





alright so KATHERINA is back :D. the band mates are Mizi, Aidil, Isa, Hafiz and Ahmad! Initially aidil and mizi asked me to play bass but i turned the offer down. Isa's gonna play the bass instead woohoo. I'm gonna watch them at Music Garage on the 21st February and they asked me to take pictures and videos of their performance. i'll do it for them but first i have to find my volt-converter thing because my adaptor is US made instead of UK so the voltage is different. oh and mizi owes me a huge favour for KILLING MY DYLAN. thanks alot for killing my guitar man, really appreciate it :P. My baby had so much potential and you took his life away. nooooo :(. you know how we can be fair? you can let me jump on the stage while you're playing and i'll start rocking away on BFMV/All that Remains Riffs and solos that i've learnt on my SILENT electric guitar. then and only then, we can be fair AHHAA. okay well i have some extra photos that are still floating around in my pc so i shall upload them here since my sis wants to compile them all.








Now if you're wondering how come theres no photos of me, well its because everyone is happily taking pictures while im the one who takes the pictures for them! -.- its like i travel all the way to the states and i dont take much photos of myself. wth? eh its alright, for the entire trip my sister was like a supermodel. always asking me to take photos of her while she poses and stuff. she did get offered once to become a model for a magazine in the states but she turned it down. she also told me that she did modelled for a couple of magazines in singapore when she was back in s'pore. I have alot more photos but its still in the camera and i can't find the bloody volt converter to charge it so i have to ask it from my mom when she wakes up later. I miss the states man! my 500 channels! cash cab, 90210, interesting ufo/alien documentaries, 10 soccer channels and downloading things at 1.5 MB/sec. man it sucks here! its alright, 8 years to go Herrizal. 8 years (or maybe lesser) to get a good education, job and a loving wife and then im OFF TO SOMEPLACE ELSE BABY! (by then i think you're going to be the pilot of my flight ah ziq?)

okay ive delayed this entry for too long now. here's the last thing for this entry. the funniest Left4dead video BY FAR AHAHAH. man just thinking about it makes me laugh. this was almost the same case when ashri died 1 metre away from the helicopter that COULD'VE evacuated him out of the hospital rooftop. he was the only survivor left because me, my bro and fauzie were either killed or lying on the floor getting stomped/kicked/punched/hit by atleast 30 zombies. this guy entered the 'safe room' and... something funny happened towards the end AHAHA. watch the top screen

Travis: no one say anything if you know what i mean...
Travis: okay, okay, okay, okay
*walks towards safe room*
Travis: okay, okay. okay, okay.
*goes in safe room*
Travis: Alright! ALRIGHT!!! ......... OH NO! GOD THERE'S A HUNTER IN THE SAFE ROOM. NO. NOOO. GOD!



ahh these guys have their own live podcast channel in the youtube video description so im gonna check them out soon. omg so much funny random stuff from them! man that game is so addictive. okay im gonna end it here.
oh well, gnite ppls! :D

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living under conservatism versus pure freedom

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im thinking back on the days and months i spent in columbus in my first stint, from about 03 to 05, and how i basically exited in this state of perpetual freedom. like, basically, i had nobody to answer to, no obligation, and even provisions made for any financial need. i was free to explore, learn, just exist and really, like any college student, explore the world around me. however, the world is a dangerous place, and 18 is way too late to begin that process - you really need to have begun that whole process of exploration at a much younger age. i was 17, in my case i'd been born in england, and swapped over to america mid school, so i was upped a year, but none the less, before that point, i'd been kept on a short leash, in a conservative household, with parents who were effectively immigrants two-fold. from india to england, and then from england to america. twice they found themselves surrounded by the unknown, by new things - the sacrifices they made are currently beyond my imaginations bounds, but one could postulate that perhaps sacrifices were indeed made. at the very least, things haven't been peachy. to make it frankly simple, im laymans terms, in everyday talk, they had a rough time. it aint easy. you could fuckin say.

but anyhow, yeah. i was more or less sheltered from death until i'd say realistically about 18 or so, when vivek passed away. but yeah, besides that, drugs, alcohol, these were all things i explored in a setting where basically there were no training wheels. honestly it would've been better to have gotten a handle on things with a guiding hand, but such wasnt the case. i was plunged face first into a world of unknown dangers and hostile peoples. the dealers, the scene kids, the druggies, the weirdos, the self destructives, the suicidals, the pill poppers, the gays, the sissies, the self contained psychopaths, the conservatives, the ultra liberals, the anarchists, - its a big wide world out there outside suburban white picket fences and cul de sac back yards.

but yeah, so i moved out from this place of pure control, to a place of pure freedom. it wouldn't have been so bad if i didn't harbor resentment, but i did. seven years of it, for living in a country where i was forced from house to house, place after place where there was nothing to do, nobody to play with, just boring apartments for 50 somethings and structure, lots of strict rules and do's and do nots. in the end, i was kept from my nature, and i rebelled, at the first chance i got, in the most awesome way i could imagine. music, alcohol, drugs, girls, anything and everything that i had missed over those many years i plunged face first into once i was free, and teh thing of it was, not all of those things were things i necessarily enjoyed. the girls weren't always great, they were fine as a mystery but at the same time, nah, didn't find necessarily any one girl that *got* me persay. like a deck of cards i went through them all, without finding my match. and then the drugs, booze nights were puke nights, and drug days were dead weeks, haze clouds covered our minds as we pulled ourselves together after going through the most insane mind trips of our lives.

never had i imagined just years earlier the world i would be fast consuming and moving through just a few years later. it all stopped when vivek died. he went to fast, too hard, and burned out, literally. his life snuffed out. it was a wakeup call. we realized it could be us. i woke up. changed up my life. moved back home to relearn and encorporate all that i missed in the years before with a face full of video games and television. the things that had made them a successfull family were the things i learned for myself, to incorporate into my own life. eventually i learned how to use my mind to settle problems between people. i pursued various pursuits such as teh gaming, which put me in a leadership position, and taught me hands on how to deal with people en masse. how there are some people who will never be your kindof people. there's some people who just bide their time and tolerate you, and some who love you. others who want nothing to do with you, most are indifferent, and fly solo and free. its only a special individual who wants to devote himself to a specific thing with any type of time committment.

these were things i learned, and eventually i grew in confidence in myself as a person, and i began to aim bigger, to return to the city that bested me the first time around, to take to the stage in a more aggressive and planned out way. and to make a mark where in the past there was never any made before.

as i moved over, other things began to surface. my skin color, never an issue over the computer or in the home, began to bring me to increasing clashes amongst myself and random white ohioans. never blacks, latinos, or asians, native americans, or the like. just whites. and it seems to me that the longer time passed, the more i really became aware that this is a very white place in the world. i was thinking, and still do think, that perhaps if iw ere to move to india, where indians live, that i'd perhaps feel amongst a people of my own kind, within which i wuold perhaps be freer to live as an individual and not as an indian. at least i wouldn't find myself pressured to address my skin color.

the truth of it is, and i think it needs to be said repeatedly, is that i was born in wales, i grew up in england, and i moved from there to chicago, back to england, and then finally to ohio. i have never spent an extended time in india. i have only visited, like someone would visit the fair, the beach, or glance at the moon. can one claim to have walked upon the moon if they have only gazed at it sparingly? no. and in similar fashion neither can i claim to have lived as an indian. i have never lived as an indian. i have lived as a welsh boy, an english boy, a chicago boy, a midwesterner, an american, - these have been my life's pursuits. i will refuse to be known as an indian, or the son of an indian. my skin color may be brown, but the brain matter is grey, amongst all races, and thats the color i prefer to distinguish by. the point is that there's very little i know about india. i am not versed in its traditions. i am not interested in its day to day.

i am not interested in spending any of my time alive relishing in the fact that im indian. i dont give a shit where my parents lived, where my great grand parents lived. those places only have importance in the recollection of past events. their locale has no importance in my future destinations. my life is my history, from my birth to present day. the events of the past, while interesting to a historian, do not prompt the said historian to then relive the past in the present. i prefer to create my own future, from my current world view, based upon my own dealings with the world. i prefer to build life experience and then gague life based upon it. i prefer to be my own man. to do my own thing. i prefer not to be led around by others. i choose not to be. i choose to forge my own way in this life. i want to do so. i feel its best. i feel its real. i feel its true to human nature. i feel its living in its truest form.

but i certainly can't forget how i lived when i was younger, kept in houses, locked in basements, asked not touch, not allowed to leave, a great many things i was forced to do, i was told it was for my own good, but i have spent many subsequent years trying to overcome the lessons that were forcefully attempted to be instilled in me. this is the legacy of a boy who grew up with conservative parents. i prefer not to look too far behind me, more so within my own life. at least when dealing with my own life. its not really worthwhile to do anything else. at least when trying to draw conclusions from my life events.
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Thought Vomit

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Just some thoughts, in no particular order, and of no particular theme from the last few days.

MONDAY:

Saw a guy today, sitting at the Red Cross Blood Drive table, reading his scriptures. What an awesome guy. =) I feel like that image is the quintessential image of BYU-Idaho righteousness. Made my day. Along with the fact that "Handsome Book of Mormon class guy? talked to me before class. Of his own accord. And of course I kind of made a fool of myself, and what he said made him all the more appealing, but I still can"t figure out if he?s engaged anyway. So oh well. Just made me happy. In that 13-year-old girl kind of way. [We had an actual two-way conversation on Wednesday. A short, but complimentary and great little conversation. That made my day, too.]

I could NOT sleep last night. I?m not entirely sure why. Well, I partly know why, but I don?t feel like revealing some of the half-awake dreams that I kept (sadly/frustratingly) waking up from.

That, and I kept almost having the classic alien abduction nightmare. Not nearly as scary as Beckah's Joker nightmare, but scary. We watched a program on aliens on the history channel over the weekend (on Netflix instant viewing, by the way, which I have recently discovered, and which has changed my LIFE), and ever since then, I keep thinking about it as I drift off to sleep and it gets scary. Things that you laugh at while doing a puzzle and watching a TV program in the light of the living room sure get frightening in the dark of a bedroom when everyone else is asleep.

Me and Annie were discussing the fact that the hundreds, maybe even thousands of alien abduction stories that people tell are so similar. We were wondering about why this was true, and came up with two possibilities. Well, three, I guess. One, these things are really happening, and that?s why everyone?s stories have common similar elements. But I somehow don?t think that?s likely. I think the more likely explanation is a combination of the other two possibilities. Possibility One: People want attention, so they make up a story similar to the ones they?ve already heard. Possibility Two: Alien abduction stories/UFO?s/etc have been a huge part of our culture for the last 50 years. It came into popular culture starting in about 1947, which was also near the beginning of the Cold War. One historian said that part of the reason so many people connected to this UFO threat is because it gave an embodiment to the otherwise abstract threat of communism?that there?s this very possible threat out there that we don?t understand. I thought that was interesting. I also started thinking about archetypes and the social norms that define us?the things that are a deep part of our subconscious, just because they?re so deeply embedded in our culture. I wonder if the alien abduction story is so much a part of our subconscious that it becomes a common hallucination, when someone is put through a certain trauma, or has a certain mental illness.

One of the stories that the program talked about was of a couple in the 50?s, whose story was one of the first recorded alien abduction stories. The program played some of the audio tapes of sessions with a psychologist, telling their story under hypnosis. It was pretty scary. At least when I look back on it in the wee small hours of the morning. The interesting thing about this couple is that she was white and he was black. Which is cool. But which is also rare. And THIS WAS IN THE 1950?S. Not so common, or even okay back then. I?ve been trying to figure out if this is related to the whole alien abduction story, and if so, how. I can?t come up with anything at this point, but I?ll keep you posted.

TUESDAY:

I miss the Playmill so much right now. I literally crave the Playmill life. Auditions are this Saturday. I feel mostly ready...songs are good. I should try to decide on a monologue. At this point, my monologue selection changes multiple times per day. If I were more confident, I would just stand up and make something up. Maybe I'll take the gist of some monologue or stand up routine and do that with it. Make most of it up. At this point, I don't know if I could memorize something well enough.

I just wish auditions were OVER with, and that the cast list was up, so that I could just KNOW whether or not I was going to be there, and what I would be doing. The not knowing is driving me bananas. Two to three more weeks of not knowing might kill me. But I've made it before, and the reasonable side of me knows that I'll make it again. But the hungry, tired, stressed, emotional side of me won't listen to a word of that.

Hey, by the way, everyone, it?s GROSS outside today. It?s snowy and windy and miserable. For the most part, it?s been this incredibly mild winter. Really, though. I have to avoid puddles more often that I have to avoid ice patches. I figure it?s the second week in February?I keep thinking that if we?ve made it this far, maybe we?ve escaped a Rexburg winter altogether. And then I remember that it?s snowed in June around here. But still! I refuse to believe that winter will happen this year! I will believe firmly in the possibility of a mild winter and an early spring. It will stop being gross. Probably tomorrow.

Also, I love Annie. We had a great conversation last night about Freud, human sexuality, literature, Shakespeare, genius, the Priesthood, and the temple. All of which was interspersed with homework, which was interesting, but most of the time our thoughts had to DO with homework, so we weren't slacking. I love Annie's brain, and that it's so similar to mine in so many ways, but that I still learn so much from her.

I've just had a lot of great conversations during the last few days. I've got such great friends. I'm surrounded by such ridiculously amazing people. I don't know what I did to deserve it.
Speaking of being undeserving, I'm in Acoustic Cafe this Thursday. Maybe I should practice. My cousin Candace and her husband are also performing, which is awesome. I feel like I don't deserve to be playing in the same venue as Nik Day and everyone else who's on the bill, but I'm honored and proud for at least going for it, and meeting my goal.
I just realized that I missed Music Outlet last night. That's another goal, maybe...play there...? I want to perform with a group of musicians more often. I haven't done that much, and it's much more fulfilling. Also I'm rambling. Much like I felt I did to handsome Book of Mormon class guy yesterday.

Better go do homework.

THURSDAY:

I came home tonight to find one outgoing, pretty roommate giving ?Hair Care 101? to another shy, introverted roommate. It was so classic. Glinda and Elphaba. Part of me is worried about Outgoing Pretty Roommate?s sincerity. The other part of me wishes I had the courage to spend time with and try to get to know Shy Introverted Roommate.

Acoustic Caf was fun. I was terrified for a while?I broke a string tuning before my sound-check, but some friendly guy with a blazer and a David Bowie t-shirt lent me his guitar for both sound-checks and the performance. I had a few moments of dread before I performed, during which I thought ridiculous things like ?I HATE my peers! I don?t want to perform for them!? But with the help of my fellow performers, most of whom I had never met, I chilled out, and had a blast singing, and didn"t forget my lyrics, and got a cookie afterward.

Whew, the long week is almost over. I"m going to try and find a cheap stick vacuum tomorrow. Our carpet is gross.
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Bloggy Memories

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Hello everyone!

Note, to preface: I feel real uneloquent tonight. Words just aren't coming so naturally to me. Sorry.

Well, 'tis 1:30 a.m. and I am awake and blogging! As per usual. My late night activities of late have included the world wide blogosphere in a lot of ways, and here's the result. The last few nights, I've had fun looking through the FOUR YEARS worth of entries on this blog. I found a lot of stories I'd forgotten about, and re-learned a lot of things just from reading about them again. There was a lot of laughter and a lot of thinking on my part, and so I thought I'd share some of the highlights here! Forgive the lengthyness of this entry...in my defense, there were 234 entries that I was skimming through. So there are quite a few gaps in between each of these, but here they are anyway. Enjoy! May these inspire a bit of a smile and/or a bit of a think!

PS: Apparently a lot of my best blogging happens on Thursdays.

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 2, 2004
All right, folks. The most bizarre thing just transpired in our dorm. It was seriously one of the weirdest things that has ever happened to us, and I would give anything to re-live it. Wow. Here's the story.
So, Jen, Jenny and I were sitting in our living room, surfing the web and discussing the fundamental differences between Canada and the United States, when we noticed a strange male face looking into our window. We all looked at eachother like "Do you know this guy? No, do you"" None of us had any idea who he was, but he was standing in front of our dorm, looking in the window just the same. So we gestured for him to come in. He opened the door and stood there looking at us. We all looked back. After a lengthy pause, Jen said "Who are you"" The guy stepped into the room, closed the door behind him and looked into the mirror on our wall. In complete silence, he proceeded to remove his hat and spent a minute fixing his hair. Then he turned around and sat in one of our armchairs. Us girls were all kind of laughing a little. Finally, I looked at him and said "You never answered our question." He just looked at us. "Who are you?" I added.
"Addison."
Long pause.
"Oh," I said. "I'm Liz." Jen and Jenny introduced themselves, and Alexis was summoned from the back room and introduced. So, after introductions were complete, we all just sat there. Silently.
After another moment, Addison stood up and said "Well, it was nice meeting you guys." Then he stood up and left.
We all sat there and looked at eachother for a minute, then burst out laughing. I don't think I can accurately describe the event to do justice to it's weirdness. But it was one of the coolest things that has ever happened to me. I'm still not completely sure what happened, exactly, but it was still the highlight of my night.

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 9, 2004
So, last night, I was in the Snow building, preparing to go caroling when I ran into my good friend Ben. We spent a pleasant 1/2 hour or so discussing many a thing, one of which was the musical "Oklahoma!" Since we have both been in the show, we were swapping analizations and stories of our experiences. I decided to tell him about one night when the actor playing Jud did something really scary. The whole problem was that I was standing in a doorway.
For those of you who know me you know that for me, telling a story is actually, like, story-telling. It involves voices and demonstrations and my whole body. So, Ben was standing in the room, and from the doorway, I was telling him how one night, in the scene where Jud and Curly have the knife fight, Andrew (who played Jud) decided to freak me and my friend out. Right before going to stab Curly, he did this creepy look right at us, with his hair all falling into his eyes and this demonic grin, and the knife glinting in the lights, and then he turned and went to STAB Curly! So, while I'm telling this, I turned away from Ben to demonstrate, but what I did not predict was that a very dignified, well-dressed member of the Bishopric would be walking into the doorway right at the moment when I turned to demonstrate the stab. So what happened is that I hit him square in the chest. This poor man just had a completely strange girl who he's never met before turn and pretend to stab him! With all the drama she could muster. There's not a whole lot you can do when you hit a strange man in the chest in a fake-stab.

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 25, 2004
It was great to spend some time with my Oma and Opa...after the visit, I asked Dad whether I'm just getting older and noticing it or whether Oma and Opa are getting funnier. He said he thinks they're getting funnier. They just have so much personality, and they're so funny, and the best part is they don't even know it! Observe the following conversation I was privy to during a visit. All this is said with endearing heavy German accents.
Opa: Is the heater off again?
Oma: Ja, I turned it off.
Opa: Why?
Oma: Because it's been on all morning and we don't need it.
Opa: It's 64 degrees in here!
Oma: Hans, I know. That's why you go outside and sit in the sun.
Opa: But it's cold!
Oma: I know. Hans, go sit in the chair outside and read your paper.
Opa: (as he goes outside to read his paper in the chair in the sun) So cold...why don't we use the heat?
They are just the funnest, most wonderful people. They pretend to argue like that at least 15 times a day, but they're still so much in love with eachother, after almost 50 years! There's just something about that that makes you feel kinda warm and tingly inside, you know?

THURSDAY, JUNE 23, 2005
I have this memory from "Our Town" rehearsals...it's one of those memories that doesn't seem very significant but sticks with you for a long time. It was a Saturday morning, and we were getting near opening. Everyone was running around doing tech stuff...trying on costumes, moving set peices, running lines. Our sound guy, Jeff, was trying to adjust levels on the system, and so he had me stand in the center of the stage and talk. After a little while, JD jumped onstage with me, a half-eaten sandwich in hand, and the two of us started singing and rapping and talking for Jeff. It was all of it complete nonsense and I don't remember much of it now, but it was genius. A lot of it was an ode to Jeff in song form. [JD]'s such a whacky guy, and follows whatever instincts hit him, which means he's totally spontaneous, and that he climbs things a lot. The guy's an amazing performer, but if you tell him so, he'll thank you graciously but deny that he's anywhere near as talented as you claim. I love hanging out with him, and working with him onstage is a ton of fun and really fulfilling. What an amazing person. He's definitely in the top ten percent of humanity in my book. JD, wherever you are and whatever you're doing (which I'm 99% sure is in West Yellowstone doing a show for Playmill), I miss you and think you're the cream of the crop. I have one thing to say to you: "I wanta hear da proposition from the duck-pant boy!" ("Tiki tiki!")

ALSO FROM THURSDAY, JUNE 23, 2005
So, I had a virgin strawberry daquiri spewed in my face this evening. It was probably one of the more fabulous experiences of my short life. I haven't laughed that hard in many a moon. And it was one of those times when you laugh hysterically, and then right when you start to get control of yourself, you notice that the girl who just spewed virgin strawberry daquiri all over your face is still laughing, but with a somewhat panicked look because she's got daquiri coming out of her nose. Who needs alcohol. I've got Patrice Strate.

SUNDAY, AUGUST 7, 2005
There's a guy on the 4-to-1 crew at work named Buck, who's got some mental problems. I think he's slightly autistic...he can function perfectly well and make decisions and can handle stress pretty well, but he doesn't always get jokes, etc. We make fun of him a lot, because he can be so funny, but in truth, we all really care about him. When he got to work today, he pulled Tim aside for a few minutes, then went back to work. I didn't think much of it...he was quieter than usual, and just seemed sort of out of it. What I saw later, though, was the kind of thing that just sort of knocks the emotional wind out of you for a second and then you realize a few things, or remember a few things you'd forgotten.
As we were unloading the truck, I grabbed a box off the chain just as Zach and Buch were also doing so. Zach and I were sort of chatting, but as I turned away, I heard Zach say "Are you cool, Buck?" Buck said "What?" and Zach repeated "Are you cool? You doing all right?" I was intrigued, so I listened as I continued to work, as Buck told Zach he's just sort of out of it right now, just a lot of stuff going on. Zach said quietly "You wanna talk about it?" Buck said no, not right now. It was probably because we girls were back there too, and Buck's a little stand-offish with us. But later when it was just them in the back, I caught a glimpse of Zack leaning on a pallet jack and listening intently as Buck talked in a low voice, his face full of emotion.
Somehow, Zach's example just caught me off guard, and I've been thinking about it all day. My reaction might make more sense if you knew Zach. He can be sort of quiet and only selectively talkative, which often comes across as conceit. But the more I get to know him, the better of a person he is. Today especially, he showed a side of himself that he doesn't show often, and I'm sure he had no idea what an influence his example was on me. I was reminded of what a tool you can be for the Lord in lifting other's burdens and bettering people's lives.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2005
Everything seems so normal around here. It shouldn't. Here, the only water around is the campus pool, when on only the other side of our own country, people's lungs are filling with it. Rexburg's population keeps moving around in its normal patterns, maybe glancing at the news and thanking their lucky stars it isn't them, and then continuing their errands to the grocery store and the post office. A part of me realizes that you can't put your life on hold to mourn every time there's a sadness in the world. If that were the case, no one would ever get anything done. But nothing seems to feel any different. I feel different, and I can't see that feeling reflected anywhere around me. Shouldn't the whole world stop for a moment? Shouldn't the banks be crammed with people sending money? Shouldn't community center programs be halted to make room for those volunteer crews setting up donation centers? Shouldn't there be jars in every business with signs that say 'For victims of Hurricane Katrina'?"
I felt so full of this sense of injustice, although the logical side of me knew that Hurricane Katrina is certainly not the only catastrophe in our world right now.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 8, 2005
The other realization happened a few weeks ago, but I still think about it all the time. I discovered that I?ve been using paper toilet-seat covers BACKWARDS my entire life! You know the little flappy part of it? The part that you punch out so you can actually use the toilet? Apparently, the part that?s still connected after you punch out the middle is supposed to go in FRONT. I read the instructions. I?ve been putting it in the back for the last 20 years! What does that mean? What does that say about me as a person? What does that say about society? What a riveting demand for redefinition this brings on!

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 2005
All girls who fit the following criteria should officially be outlawed from attending BYU-Idaho:
18 years old or younger
blonde
big blue eyes
expensive magazine-y clothes
large breasts or curvy figure in general
Here's why. As long as THEY are all here, the rest of us don't stand a chance. How are we supposed to compete with that?! Here we are, spiritual, intelligent, individual, funny, beautiful...we are girls who KNOW who we are and are trying to be what the Lord wants us to be. But are we the girls who get dates? NO! It's the ditzy blondes who all look, act, and think (if they do at all) in the exact same way. IT BLOWS MY MIND! It seems like by their early twenties, boys would have stopped thinking with their hormones alone and started also employing their hearts, minds, and spirits in being attracted to someone.
Tonight, some guy friends were talking about how difficult the dating scene in Rexburg is, and how it's so much harder for guys and how girls don't take dating seriously. Like my friend Sarah said, B.S. Rexburg is one of the few places in the world where there are THOUSANDS of single LDS young men and women in one place. And check it out: around here, GUYS are the askers. So which is harder: to ask? Or to sit around and wait to be asked and to feel like there's NOTHING you can do about it when no one asks you" Hm. And as for girls not taking dating seriously, I don't even know what they mean by that.

FRIDAY, MAY 19, 2006
Since coming up to West Yellowstone, Montana
1 Trips to the E.R. since rehearsals began
79 Approximate hours spent in rehearsal
2 Times I've watched Old Faithful go off
9 Times I've cried (happy, sad, in character, and out of character)
8,462 Times I've laughed
1 Compliment I've received that I will treasure forever
2 Parental lectures received since moving to Montana
6 Times I've listened to the song "Come On, Eileen"
4 Cast members that are currently ill
9 Moments I've wondered about a cast member's sexuality
14 Number of times I've fallen while attempting a partnered cartwheel flip
1 Number of times Ben has dropped me on my head while we were attempting said cartwheel flip
0 Times Curtis and I have done our jive choreography correctly
8 Times I've done the "Go Go Joe" choreography correctly
0 Times I've done the "Go Go Joe" choreography correctly while being able to breathe and/or sing
3.1 Harry Potter books I've re-read
7 Number of ferral cats caught in the theatre and have now been sent home to Jesus
8 Times I have been down-right astounded by things that the Merrill children have said
6 Average number of times per day that I sing a high G above the octave
9,742 Number of times I have thought of the wonderful people that surround me and how much I miss those that I'm not with every day right now

MONDAY, JUNE 12, 2006
The other night, after we successfully opened "Plaid," the Merrills got us pizza (according to opening night tradition) and as we were sitting there, eating and talking and laughing, I looked around and thought "I am so happy and blessed to be here. There is nowhere else in the world I would rather be right now than right here, doing what I'm doing, with the people I'm with." Of course, I miss the other wonderful people who are a part of my life, and I miss the fun of school and the green of Oregon and the laughter of my family, but there is so much joy to be had in being in the right place at the right time. And I really feel that for me right now, that's here at the Playmill. I learn so much every day that I can't even keep track of it all; my journal is this random assortment of half-written entries and revelations. I'm making new friends, and growing closer to old ones. I love discovering who a person is, and to find myself caring about them and learning from them and finding ways to serve them.
I love looking into the faces of audience members every night and watching their expressions. I can't believe how many opportunities I have to touch people's lives EVERY SINGLE DAY. Everyone has that opportunity, but to do it in a theatre setting is such a different experience, and so thrilling.
And in some ways terrifying. I sort of talked about the whole "pretty" thing in the last entry, and it's a continual process of gaining confidence in myself, but its certainly coming a lot further than it was before. I had another growing experience recently...as some of you may know, I love to play the guitar. But I'm self-taught and don't have much theory knowledge, so I only play in front of friends. Well, J.D. is in charge of pre-show for this summer, and I told him I was scared to sing a pre-show song, and he told me to go for it. I told him that I really didn't want to sing, but if he asked me to, it would be good for me and help me overcome my fears. So for the first time in my entire life, last week I played the guitar in front of an audience. I sang "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" and accompanied myself on the guitar and it was terrifying, but wonderful in this surreal sort of way.
Tonight J.D. asked me if I would play/sing a pre-show number for "Plaid" for the rest of the summer. I accepted, and I'm excited for the challenge! I still get really nervous, but as is typical of me, I get more nervous after performing. Tonight when I got offstage and was putting the guitar away, J.D. came by and said "Liz, thank you. You have a great pre-show voice. It's just this really unusual, old-time radio-type voice that is PERFECT for pre-show. It's just really good, and it's a voice that people want to hear, and that audiences want to listen to. It's great." It meant so much to me, and I thanked him and told him as much, and Davie Walker added that he loved my preshow and thought it was so cute and didn't know why I was so scared. Anymore of this and I'll be a diva before the summer's over! No, I'm not nearly there yet.
In all honesty, I don't share these compliments I receive because I want to brag or justify my behavior or decisions. I'm just so thrilled and honored by them, and they mean so much to me that I want to record them as a way to better preserve the memory, and to remind myself of them, because more often than not, I forget or don't believe them.

AUGUST 24, 2006
Tonight we only had one show of "Plaid," so afterwards a group of us went out to dinner at a nice restaurant, just because we could. Former Playmill player and friend of many a cast member Jon-Peter Lewis also joined us, and I'm pleased to say he's not nearly as insufferable as I remember him being shortly after the whole American Idol craze. (See I even provided a link to his site...) We had a nice little chat about Paul McCartney and shared a dinner roll. Although I think we could probably be friends, I can't get past the difference in our pocketbooks.

MONDAY, OCTOBER 9, 2006
THE SETTING:
131 College Avenue. Turkish prayer flags hang above the porch. On the front door is taped a sign, with a picture of a camel and the words "Welcome to the Hawmps" and as a post-script "It's very small. And nicely cramped...so that there's hardly any room between one adventure and the next." Enter an old house with walls too thin, containing an impressive library, a dozen or so Jones soda bottle, and a Pez collection on the wall opposite the front door. A guitar sits in the corner, rescued from the flooded Playmill men's dressing room, bearing the autographs of everyone who's played it since its entered the house. The white-board outside the kitchen has various items of business, including the Question of the Day ("Are there pineapples/beaches in Spirit Prison"") and the Word of the Day, normally taken from the Balderdash cards ("Snurp: verb. To shrivel up."). Next to the white-board is the chores chart and the Official Constitution, and on a shelf above it, The Shrine. The Shrine consists of numerous objects that have stories behind them or are in some way connected to one or more of the members of the household. On the shelf sit a newspaper rose in a vase, a green stuffed bunny named Dave, a Mr. Potato figure, the shards of Sting, 3 railroad pikes (one of them bearing a magnet saying "Vaughn"), a Catholic "Santa Barbara" candle, a collection of Volkswagon Bug model cars, and 2 Balderdash cards, one describing the movie "Hawmps" and one bearing the word "Dunkle" (to dint or crumple). In the kitchen is a pile of dishes that Vaughn will eventually do if they're Liz's responsibility, otherwise they'll pile up for a few more days until we run out of clean ones. Covering the walls are the paper hearts that were put up for Eileen weeks ago when she was having a bad day, but which now serve as a good reminder of appreciation.

MAY 19, 2007
I had a fun talk tonight about all the old-school computer games we all used to play back in the day. Which inspired me to write this blog. And I totally stole this idea for a blog entry from Willie. Woot for syntax text-only adventure games.
You find yourself sitting awake in bed.
>Check clock
It is 2:01 in the morning
>inventory
You have your roomate's computer, your phone, and a stuffy nose.
>Blow nose
You need a tissue to do that.
>Get tissue
You can't get a tissue from here.
>Screw blowing nose
Okay.
>I'm bored.
I don't understand that command.
>Entertain me.
I don't understand that command.
>Make observations about current situation.
You are single. You are thirsty. You are an insomniac.
>Change relationship status.
You need to choose a person to do that.
>Select Guybrush Threepwood as companion.
Guybrush Threepwood is an imaginary character.
>Select Al Pacino as companion.
Don't be stupid.
>Get a drink.
You get up and pour yourself a glass of water. You get out powdered energy drink and add 4 scoops. You drink the glass in one gulp.
>Go to sleep.
You have gone to sleep.
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"Fiction reveals truth that reality obscures." --Jessamyn West

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This is one of those short stories that come about because you just start writing. I started it while waiting in an airport about six months ago, without a thought in my head as to what it would be about, and then just kept writing until something solidified. I'd been reading Hemingway and Cormac McCarthy a lot when I started this little fiction free-write, and it kinda shows...my writing always mirrors what I'm reading at the time, whether I want it to or not. Skill or weakness? Probably both.

There's an image in it that is reminiscent of Plath's "The Bell Jar," which I read recently, but interestingly enough I read the Bell Jar after I wrote the scene in "Gravity." Channeling Plath...blessing or curse? Again, probably both.

I decided to be vague in this as well. Deliberately Hemingway. Hills like white elephants, anyone? (AKA I'm not sure what I want to have happen at the very end. So you get to decide. I've my own theories, but they're just mine.)

Anyway, enjoy. It probably needs a lot more work...at this point its just sort of a few scenes and facts thrown together over two or three pages. But it was fun to write. I haven't tried any straight-up fiction in literally years. So I welcome your comments and critiques! This is my way of work-shopping this draft.

GRAVITY

Elaine McFarther had become Elaine Jeorges, wife of the rough and silent Harold Jeorges, exactly two weeks before her twentieth birthday. He was more than 25 years her senior. The reception was held in her father"s office building, in one of the three reception rooms. She had wanted it on the roof, but there were too many guests for whom stairs was a challenge. Her colors had been lavender and yellow, and she had carried lilies. On the day of her wedding, Elaine had climbed to the roof of the McFarther Enterprises building. The McFarther Enterprises building was forty-seven stories high. There were six elevators, four staircases, and two maintenance stairwells that led to the roof. Not caring whether anyone missed her at her own wedding reception, she had gathered her petticoat and dress up in her arms, and legs bare up to her thighs, walked the four flights of stairs to the maintenance door. She had crushed part of her bouquet of lilies in her efforts to open it.

Elaine had stood at the edge of the roof, shivering in her strapless gown. Her lilies lay in a heap at her feet, and beside them a steadily growing pile of half-smoked cigarette butts. She never finished cigarettes. She could smoke a pack in four hours, but always put them out before they were finished. It was her way of working up to quitting. Deep down, she had no intention of quitting, but not finishing a cigarette made smoking one seem less harmful. She leaned against the railing, smoking, counting the cars down below and wondering where the people in them were going. Looking up, she could count on one hand the number of stars that were visible. She peered up at the moon, and pursing her lips, tried to blow a smoke ring to surround it. The smoke blew away in the wind.

Pursing her lips again, Elaine wondered about Harold. She glanced down at the lilies at her feet. She dropped her half-finished cigarette and ground it beneath the heel of her wedding shoes. She picked up the lilies and gathered them to her face. Her lips brushed against their soft, fragrant petals as she breathed them in. She pulled one flower from the bunch and held it over the edge of the building, feeling gravity"s gentle pull. Opening her fingers slowly, she let gravity win. The looked at her empty hand hovering over forty-seven stories. Then she took the rest of the lilies and, one by one, dropped them off of the roof of the McFarther Enterprises Building, watching them flutter like crumpled paper, landing among the cars below.

* * * * *

There was something in the way he moved. Like an octopus, or a spider. His movements were precise and calculated. Unhurried. When he picked up a pencil, it was as if the different parts of his arm were isolated beings?lift arm, bend at elbow, fingers grip. He never smiled. He held the baby gently. Her tiny head was resting gently in the crook of his elbow, her small arms flailing contentedly. His rough fingers brushed the downy softness of her hair, and anyone flying above them would have smiled to see so rough a man hold so small and soft a little girl. Harold had only been a father for a week and a half. Her mother had named the baby Lily.

There wasn?t anything particularly exciting on the roof. No helicopter landing pad, no pigeon cages. The ground was scattered with a few unfinished cigarette butts. Probably left over from maintenance men over the years, Harold thought. The door leading to the roof was rusty, and Harold had had to slam his shoulder against it to get it to move. He had set Lily down on the top step, wrapping her extra tightly in her blanket so that she wouldn?t flail and roll down. Picking her up again, he had thought of how light she was?if he had dropped her, it seemed to him that she would have floated down to the floor like a sheet of paper, drifting from side to side before settling down unharmed and smiling on the floor.

Harold stood at the edge of the building. Looking down below, he wondered where the people in the cars were going. He thought of the stranger that was his wife, and the crushed remnants of her wedding bouquet they had stepped over when they left their reception a year ago. Lily didn?t seem to share his thoughts, and with one of her tiny hands gripped a handful of his shirt. He looked down at her. He wondered how such a small thing could be a person. How this bundle in his arms could have come from him, could now belong to him. At nearly 50, Harold found himself suddenly a widower, and suddenly a father. His spider-like fingers slowly and deliberately untangled his shirt from the baby?s grip. He let his one hand fall slowly to his side, like the tentacle of some sea creature moving with languid slowness. Lily looked up at him from where she was bundled in the crook of his other arm. He regarded her silently. He didn?t know what to do with a baby. Leaning over the edge of the McFarther building, feeling gravity pull on his senses, he looked at Lily again, and then down at the cars, forty-seven stories below.

"Yes," he thought. ?I don"t know what to do with a baby."
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