The Chicken or the Egg, Musical style

Hubris:
Someone asked me if an accidental applied to all the octaves in one measure, or only that note. I quickly answered: all. It's what I've always done, in 20 years of arpeggios. My questioner looked very disappointed. He had previously argued strongly for the other camp.

Turns out I was wrong. Went home and looked up the rules on the gold standard of accuracy (wikipedia). But I was curious as to why I was so sure of my answer. I started asking other musicians. Most fell into the same trap I did.

I wondered what the reason was for this oversight. Looking through my old music, I began to see the new patterns. What I thought to be courtesy to the musician was actually a rule to the system. I selfishly had thought that everything on that sheet of music was for me, and that those markings were no more than a helpful reminder of my own personal rules. Maybe they still are. Wikipedia fails too, right?

But at least it sparked a question: when does a courtesy become a rule? I know I often do inconvenient things to be polite. But when we saturate our lives with these rituals, will we have the freedom to take back the habit? How will society react when we realize, while eating out in a large party, that waiting for all the food to arrive before eating results in n-1 lukewarm servings? and that, in casting shame on the eater of the last piece, we require vigilance at the dinner table, all eyes open for the penultimate portion?

I wish I could think of examples that don't involve food. That would give this matter more weight :)

Questions of the Day: Did you know about the octave accidental rule? And what are the stupidest manners you still do? Or that you're fighting?

It's time to gross yourself out

Imagine microwaving a stick of butter. Pour it all over your hands. Feel how it makes webs between your fingers; hear how it glistens as you rub your palms together. Try rolling over a 200 lb log now. Fail once. Feel it budge, then roll back. Fail again. Give up and call it a day.

If you were able to picture that vividly, congratulations, you can skip class...

...if your class is the one where your assignment is to yank away a two inch layer of fat off a cadaver. The harder I pulled, the slicker it got (I'll let you figure out why). The slicker it was, the harder I held. Rinse (change gloves) and repeat ad nauseam.

Paint-ballin!

Some guys from my fraternity came into town for a paintball tournament, and I joined their team. From the moment the whistle blew, I realized that all the gym work I had been doing was useless. In the dirt, my too-loose mask fogging up, machine-trained muscles clumsy on damp grass, I felt strength expended with each narrow miss.

I wish I could post a war hero story here. How many times have I dreamed of being the commando, the invincible, untouchable hero that slides gracefully around the battlefield, dispatching opponents with ease? Well, that dream hasn't been realized yet. During the semifinal match, as the other four members of my team were eliminated, a growing sense of dread and hopelessness set in. I broke cover and ran laterally to try to flank what felt like a full opposing team. Took a paintball on the ankle for my efforts.

Tripped and landed hard. Looked up and saw my ammo had detached from my weapon. Tried to reach out and gather when I felt pain. I also saw that my left hand had not moved. Aw shucks.

With my right hand I gathered up as much as I could to make a dignified exit from the arena, but collapsed on the bench as soon as I exited. Breaths were coming in shallow, as my left shoulder felt like it was in the wrong place, but I couldn't move it anywhere else without retaliation. My teammates, having seen me fall, rushed over to help me get out of my jacket. As they pulled the left sleeve off, there was a noticeable shift of something, and with it, relief. Cool! With their poor caretaking skills (partly my fault, I didn't want my shirt cut off), I think my team set my shoulder back in place.

What an experience. First, pain that punished the very thought of movement. Then, the rush of peace that arrived immediately as mobility was restored.

Yes folks, it really is just like the movies. I'm walking around today feeling like I just had a good, pleasantly sore, workout.

Diet and exercise

Join a gym: check
Buy shoes: check
Get MuscleMilk: check
Take a before photo: check
Diet: ......

I did all the easy stuff first (well, the photo was tricky, set up the worst angles so that the improvement would be more obvious). Bargained for a $30/month deal at Gold's. Loaded up the duffel bag with shorts, cutoff shirts, and protein shakes. I was going to war with my body.

But then came that often downplayed issue of diet. We always think we can "work off" things we eat. But I looked at the calorie counter after an hour of running 6 miles on the treadmill. 563! Done on an incline, with me gasping, out of breath, sweat dripping off my eyelashes. That number is less than the snacks I've eaten while writing this post.

Typical Gold's. Yet another piece of broken equipment...

Humble Beginnings

I was having lunch with a classmate today, and we both realized that we had considered blogging. Being that time of the year when one is to pick up good habits, I figured I'd take this impulse seriously and launch while the momentum was fresh.

So here we go. You can expect random musings on music, physics, LOST, Survivor, video games, technology, and med school here.

I expect that in the coming days, I'll be experiencing many things for the first time. Those are the things that I'd like to blog about. Enjoy!