I'm not one for confrontation. I cover my eyes and hope that things will blow over. In otherwords, I let awkward situations wallow in pools of awkwardness. So occasionally at school, I get all, "Omgomgomomg, crap. He's walking down the hall by himself. I'm walking down the hall by myself. I can't ignore him. He knows I see him, so I HAVE to acknowledge him. I can't just pretend I don't see him. Omg, he's walking REALLY fast. I have to decide what to do now. Okay, okay, calm down Rebekah. OMG HE'S ALMOST HERE. HE'S SO FREAKING CLOSE. OKAY, JUST GIVE HIM THE NOD. I mean, the nod is pretty much the international sign for, "Sup?" right? But it's a guy thing........ OKAY TOO LATE HE'S HERE! GO! .............................. Okay, that was soooo awkward." Basically, I'm as ridiculously frenzied and over-the-top as I make myself sound, in my head at least. And then when I'm around my friends, I'm all, "Hey, is he looking at me? Do you think I look at him too much? Is my hair okay?" It's quite sad really. Actually, more like he makes me sad. It makes me sad to know once I get all my stuff back, err... my one thing back, it's all over and done with. It makes me sad that the most interaction we've had in a while is my ungraceful head nod. It makes me sad that this shouldn't be so hard anymore, but it still is. It makes me sad that we, as human beings, can't get over ourselves and say exactly what we want to say. It makes me sad to know that he was, and probably still is, Mr. Says-All-The-Right-Things. Frick, I could just kill him 'cause it kills me. Sometimes, I don't want to hear the right thing. Sometimes, I just want honesty.
My Commonplace Book, as Mr. Splinter calls it, is probably the most beat-up thing ever. I don't even know where the cover of it went, but amazing things happen in that tank of a notebook. Anyways, go here:
Here's one the one I chose for my assignment. It goes with the change of song. Oh, and Abby, if you're reading this, two things: 1. This song brings back good memories. 2. Let me borrow your CDs, please and thank you. :) To quote somebody wiser than I, Chet Baker has an increidbly pure voice. It's like silk, and he plays just like he sings. Strangely enough, I think of soy milk.
Jazz Is the Sound of God Laughing
Jazz is the sound of God laughing. And I believe in it.
I came to know jazz as a child, stretched out beneath my uncle’s baby grand. I would lie there for hours drawing while Uncle Charlie practiced. I could feel the vibrations go right through me, filling me up with jazz. I felt happier in that room than anywhere on the planet. A lot of that had to do with being admitted to the inner sanctum of my favorite grown-up. But in retrospect, I realize it was also about the music.
I believe in the fundamental optimism of jazz. Consider the first four notes of “Rhapsody in Blue.” Can you hear it? It’s saying, “Something monumental is going to happen. Something that’s never happened before. And you are alive to witness it.”
Jazz is always like that. Even the songs that take you to despair lift you. That’s because the music remembers where it came from, from people kidnapped and enslaved. It came from a humanity that was attacked a thousand different ways every day, but never defeated. It’s the People’s Music.
I remember my uncle’s hands on the piano. His fingers always had tiny burns on them, a hazard of his job as a welder. He spent his days at the Brooklyn Navy Yard building the ships that won the Second World War. He spent his nights playing piano and sax for couples who glided and gyrated across the city’s polished floors.
In jazz, anybody can sit in. It’s dogma-free, which allows the music to take more than its share of detours. This forces you to have faith. Faith that if you keep moving forward, you’ll get there.
As an adult, cancer tested my faith. I was not afraid of dying — after all, that’s only a key change — but I was terrified of leaving my baby without a mother. Walking in the woods with my son, who by no coincidence bears my uncle’s name, I was fighting back tears. Charlie noticed some honeybees and started imitating their sound. All of a sudden, he sang “Buzz, buzz buzz buzz. Buzz.” Those are the opening notes of “Green Dolphin Street,” a jazz standard that I’d wager few 3-year-olds know.
Thankfully, I lived. But even if I hadn’t, I learned that day that I could never leave my Charlie, any more than Uncle Charlie had ever left me. The three of us shared a treasure passed through generations. My baby knew jazz, which is the same as knowing that the universe carries us all toward joyful reunions.
There are some ugly noises in the universe today. At any given moment, I can turn on my television and watch people trampling over each other to gain the moral high ground. Sometimes, I despair. But on good days, I turn off the television and put on some Oscar Peterson. And I whisper a prayer for America to remember that we are “Green Onions,” “String of Pearls,” “A Sunday Kind of Love” and “The Dirty Boogie.” We are the people of Louis, George, Miles and Wynton. We are the jazz people.
We’ll get there. I believe it.
I came to know jazz as a child, stretched out beneath my uncle’s baby grand. I would lie there for hours drawing while Uncle Charlie practiced. I could feel the vibrations go right through me, filling me up with jazz. I felt happier in that room than anywhere on the planet. A lot of that had to do with being admitted to the inner sanctum of my favorite grown-up. But in retrospect, I realize it was also about the music.
I believe in the fundamental optimism of jazz. Consider the first four notes of “Rhapsody in Blue.” Can you hear it? It’s saying, “Something monumental is going to happen. Something that’s never happened before. And you are alive to witness it.”
Jazz is always like that. Even the songs that take you to despair lift you. That’s because the music remembers where it came from, from people kidnapped and enslaved. It came from a humanity that was attacked a thousand different ways every day, but never defeated. It’s the People’s Music.
I remember my uncle’s hands on the piano. His fingers always had tiny burns on them, a hazard of his job as a welder. He spent his days at the Brooklyn Navy Yard building the ships that won the Second World War. He spent his nights playing piano and sax for couples who glided and gyrated across the city’s polished floors.
In jazz, anybody can sit in. It’s dogma-free, which allows the music to take more than its share of detours. This forces you to have faith. Faith that if you keep moving forward, you’ll get there.
As an adult, cancer tested my faith. I was not afraid of dying — after all, that’s only a key change — but I was terrified of leaving my baby without a mother. Walking in the woods with my son, who by no coincidence bears my uncle’s name, I was fighting back tears. Charlie noticed some honeybees and started imitating their sound. All of a sudden, he sang “Buzz, buzz buzz buzz. Buzz.” Those are the opening notes of “Green Dolphin Street,” a jazz standard that I’d wager few 3-year-olds know.
Thankfully, I lived. But even if I hadn’t, I learned that day that I could never leave my Charlie, any more than Uncle Charlie had ever left me. The three of us shared a treasure passed through generations. My baby knew jazz, which is the same as knowing that the universe carries us all toward joyful reunions.
There are some ugly noises in the universe today. At any given moment, I can turn on my television and watch people trampling over each other to gain the moral high ground. Sometimes, I despair. But on good days, I turn off the television and put on some Oscar Peterson. And I whisper a prayer for America to remember that we are “Green Onions,” “String of Pearls,” “A Sunday Kind of Love” and “The Dirty Boogie.” We are the people of Louis, George, Miles and Wynton. We are the jazz people.
We’ll get there. I believe it.
3 comments:
... he STILL hasn't given you your stuff back!?
maybe he wears your sweater to bed... =/
1. This song almost makes me like cry. I'm not even joking which is sad. Cry happy cause of the memories, but cry sad as well, cause memories are well, in the past.
2. Yes, yes. I forgot. :P I'll get them now.
Oh, Nick was at school today.
:`)
WHAT.
THE.
HE WAS?
WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME THIS?
OHMMMMMMMGGGGGGGGGGGGGG.
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