The Art of Storytelling

After a concert with a youth orchestra, of which I am a part, my parents took me and the girlfriend to diner.  Many stories were exchanged as my parents got to know the girlfriend better.  Now when I'm with my friends I tend to be one of the better story tells of the group, I can silence the entire lunch table every once in a while when I talk, but with my parents my stories always go flat.  Today, however, I had one story about the practice before the concert that really made the table laugh.  I had already told it to the girlfriend on the way to the restaurant but my parents hadn't heard it.  As I was telling it I realized that I was telling it better than I did previously and while my parents were cracking up the girlfriend also laughed more than she had the first time.  Telling a good story well is a skill that I have yet to master, but when I do end up telling one, it feels great.  And so we go.

Practice is fun

I've been given a piece of music for a marimba ensamble by my percussion teacher.  I and three other percussionists will accompany one of our friends in a song called Girlfriends Medley.  I've been really nervous since I've gotten it because although it's a piece within my skill range, I'll be performing with a higher caliber of people than I'm used to, and to add more pressure the final performance will be filmed and sent as an audition tape to colleges which the soloist is applying.  I've worked up a large chunk of the song to almost the right tempo but I walked into the final lesson terrified that my teacher would not be happy with what I had down.  Quite the contrary occurred, in fact, my teacher (who is one of the other three accompanists) hopped on another marimba to play his part while I played mine so I could see how I fit into the ensamble.  He even ended and said that he had some things to work on too in his part.  Hearing a new part that fit perfectly with what I had been practicing on my own the past two weeks felt awesome.  This reinvigorated me to practice even more for when I have even more parts going on around me.  And so we go.

Who Dun It?

In history everyone was required to read a book on the Mountain Meadows Massacre.  After discussing it in class, a character was given to each of us to read up on.  We had to know on who the character blamed the massacre.  Arriving at the history room for class we saw a sign that lead us to a unused room off of the gym where we found our teacher sitting with one small lamp for the whole room.  She told us that a murder had happened and, as our characters, we needed to determine who from the massacre would have committed the crime.  Lots of people jumped whole heartedly into their new persona, accusing others left and right to save themselves from blame over the murder.  I, Nephi Johnson, the translater for the Indians, had no blame placed on me but my job fell to clear the Indians of any blame.  Hilarity ensued for the next hour as we narrowed the possible suspects down to two people, neither of which was conclusive.  This break from normal class really helped us to absorb the attitudes of those involved in the massacre.  I'm interested to see what other interesting things we do this semester.  And so we go.

Unlocking meaning in words

Over the past few weeks while trudging through the poetry unit in English, I've come to find a new appreciation for poetry as a concept.  In the past I've been one to be weary of all the symbols and figurative interpretations that English teachers seem to be so good at finding.  This year something changed and I'm finding enjoyment in poetry that I'd always envied in people that could just access any poem.
Today in class we read out loud poems written by ourselves that were stylized after either Robert Frost or Emily Dickinson in style and subject matter.  I thoroughly enjoyed listening to the emotions that my peers chose to share through this intimate writing style.  I now understand even more that poetry allows for a unique door into someone's head, really letting you see the inner mechanics of their thoughts.  The best moment though came from my teacher telling me that my poem was "really beautiful" after my reading.  Receiving praise elevates one so much, especially after opening that door and letting others into your thoughts.  That compliment made me feel much more confident in my writing, particularly of poetry.  Following this post is the poem read to my class.  And so we go.

Overlooked are those on benches,

sitting, watching quietly,

observations made of passersby

in the silence of body and mind.

Weight pressed on planks—

back and seat on—cold, expressionless,

planks, out in elements,

left by Committee and City.

Lonesome are watchers with

imagination blossoming into

flowers pollinated by

bees who blow by.

Shooting the breeze

The girlfriend came over to hang out after school having discovered that neither of us had rehearsal.  After scouring my room for something to play with, I was in the closet when my eyes fell upon my old Nerf guns.  Conveniently I had two and thus gave one to her.  After some face palming when I had to teach her how to cock the plastic weapon she became extremely proficient at aiming at my head in the mirror.  Choosing the weaker of the two guns for myself turned out to be a topic for ridule when my bullets would consistently fall short of their mark.  The teasing will most likely continue for a while and eventually result in a competition of some kind, us being a very competitive couple.  Most likely I'll be victorious but sometimes surprises are just as fun as wins.  And so we go.

And so we go...

This video was played for our school today and sparked my desire to start a journal, as Shawn suggests.  This is that attempt, to write at least one thing, each day, that that in the past 24 hours made me happy.  Now this could go exactly like my attempt at NaNoWriMo this year (I got about 15,000 words), but I have high intentions.  I plan to carve out a bit of each day to sit down and melt into a short narrative in order to relive a moment that put a smile on my face.