Oh, the First Days are the Hardest Days...

...when You're the Music Bitch. I can hear the Grateful Dead now. For months, the pace at the music office usually compromises only a few tasks.
-sort the mail
-schedule a room
-eat lunch outside for an hour
-answer the phone a couple times
-play on the internet for several hours
But now that it's the second day of classes, and I should be only working 2 hours a day and going to my one class a day, the start of school has looked more like this:
-come fill in extra hours even though I'm not supposed to work and I should be going grocery shopping
-train the new assistants
-give directions to 10 lost foreign students
-sweat through two shirts lugging paper cases up from the basement
-rearrange chairs and tables in a concert hall three times in one day for events
-handle room requests which should have been handled over the summer, but professors insist on not turning in a piece of paper to me until four months after the due date, and then get huffy that they can't have the schedule that they want
-update 75 faculty addresses and phone numbers
-get new people copy codes
-eat a PB&J at the desk while on the phone
I miss the quiet of summer, but I'm excited to be writing my orchestra piece, and glad to have familiar faces back in town.
Current music: the Petroushka cornet theme, 1,000 times in succession from auditions across the hall.

Sleepy at Work

It's really humid here and after not sleeping well for the past week, the air-conditioned music office closet seems like such a welcoming place for a nap. And then the phone rings and I have 65 placement exams to grade and actual office work to do! Drats.

Hummingbees

I think I saved the day yesterday in the music office after getting a giant bee back outside from its angry home inside the building. I swear that this bee was the biggest bee I've ever seen, and I'm not joking, it was probably 2.5 inches. It looked a lot like this one above, drawn my my friend Amy.
But Amy thinks by my description it looked more like this:


I'd say it was three inches long but maybe that's a bit much. Either way, there were about five people in the office trying to come up with ways to kill it, including a broom with cardstock stuck in it. One of our conductors rigged up a beautiful 'cup on a stick of bamboo' mechanism to trap the little devil. The bee was almost too big to fit into the styrofoam cup! But then no one could figure out how to keep the bee in the cup as it slid over the mouldings of the windows. I suggested sliding some paper under the cup to trap the bee (thanks country living!). Well, obviously that made me the designated bee-trapper. But it was a success! And then there was clapping. And the hummingbee lived to buzz another day.

Reviews of Old Soaps

I assume that many of you dear readers have collected different kinds of objects in your lives. Some people collect porcelain dolls, and some people collect real dolls. Some people collect trivets, while others collect license plates. I, too, have collected certain things over periods of time in my life. I have an old Lego collection, and a crystal and mineral collection, and a 'coins from other countries' collection. Nowadays I suppose I collect recordings and music scores, if anything. Oh, and who could forget my collection of properties in Dubai. But I think there are only a few people who have collected a huge bag of travel soaps and shampoos from various hotels spanning the last thirteen years. I went through this bag while on my 'vacation', and thought I would provide you with a design review of hotel soaps across North America. I will not be providing, however, a performance review of said soaps and shampoos. As cute as they are, hotel shampoo is still crap, and I've never stayed in the Four Seasons to use their luxe samples. My hair already gets enough mistreatment from my everyday 99-cent Big Value Shampooze.From left to right, these are highlights of the standard bottle.
1. 'Gentle Organic Shampoo', hotel unmarked. Classy, understated elegance. I feel like each drop is a chamomile-infused blessing from heaven. And by heaven, I mean somewhere in a factory in Tennessee. Overall, not too ostentatious design, but not too cheap. The lid could stand to be translucent. Midnight Shoveler grade: B+.
2. Canadian Conditioning Shampoo. Like Pert Plus, but orange, it strips your hair of its nutrients, and then puts the nutrients right back! How 'bout that! Design elements include the ever-present Canadian Maple leaf, and square shape. Reminds me too much of cologne containers, however, and Scotch bottles for cheap alcoholics. Grade: B-.
3. Where do I start, Howard. Howard Johnson, your cheap hotel rooms beguile me. If you only went for a Minimalist Mod look you could really pull off a $45 hotel room and this hideous mini-shampoo. Instead, your colors are throwupbeigeorange (yes, one word, it all runs together in one wretch), and grass-stains mixed with teal crayons. No, no, no. However, small changes can improve your shampoo drastically! Change the shape of the bottle to a concave neck, like vintage perfumes, which would be elegant in white. And make your logo and lettering even more blocky and '70's, and I'm there, sleeping at shabbychic HoJo. But for now: D+. At least your bottle is white. Unlike #4. I can't even read the label even if it wasn't a blurry photo. Your shampoo has separately violently which perfectly matches the faux-marble finish of your label, complete with faux-elegant gold lettering. Gold=dazzling, so why doesn't it work on soaps? I know, because your shampoo isn't suppose to look like it's imitating a piece of gold-striated marble dug out of a quarry. Do you think anyone is ever tricked into thinking your bottle top is an actual ball of gold? Then don't lie to me! D- for lying.
I've calmed down. Now we'll look at Eccentric shapes.
1. Marriott, as much as I don't like your salmon-and-grey, I think it works with the cylinder shape. I'm sort of indifferent to this one, but it also came with an identical container of baby powder which sprinkles out delightfully. B+.
2. Comfort Inn Conditioning Shampoo. As much as I bet this shampoo sucks, I like the bottle a lot. It's art-deco classy and I like the translucence. However, couldn't Comfort find a more exciting color for the label and top than dull gray? A-.
3. (Behind). Shirmack. I suppose I should think practically about this one, like, 'I could store 50 single-use shampoos all in one pocket! Yay!' and praise the lack of waste material: How much shampoo goes thrown out after one use in a hotel room, every day, in hotel rooms all across America? It pains me to think about. But then fashionable Midnight butts in and says, you're paying for this hotel room, and all you get is this free sample? What happened to 'lather rinse repeat?' Grade: On the Fence B.
4. This isn't even a shampoo. I think it's a candy. But it's from Mexico, and it's from 1993. This candy is from a hotel 14 years ago. Gross. It's hard to tell from this photo of a photo, though, that the design is actually quite nice, and simple yet attractive. So this candy gets an A. But fails to be a shampoo.
Less dazzling highlights. 1. Dockside Inn, Martha's Vineyard. This soap is clear, but very cherry red-colored, even after 8 years in a cupboard. This is the one shampoo I saved to use for real, because it holds its age well. It's like a good wine of the soap bar world. And quaintly designed, with a tie-in to the 'candy-colored Victorian B&B' in which I stayed. (Don't get all impressed, it wasn't quite that glam.) A.
2. 'Fleur de Lis Flex & Go'. Ugh. There's something ugly about the 'Flex and Go' font, and not very fleur-de-lis-ey in the overall aesthetic. The actual symbol of the fleur-de-lis reminds me of French Monarchies. Heralds. Brocade. Beautiful, tall, Wrought-iron fences. This Fleur-de-Flex -and-Go reminds me of IHOP and fluorescent lighting. What if you made the cap into the shape of the fleur-de-lis? Maybe I'd rethink my grade: C-.
3. Stage West. I'm only amused by the porn-chic font of this hotel, which if I recall, looks nothing like California in the 1970's. Nor reminded me of anything Western. It did live up to the hype of the rest of the bottle, though, which states "All-Suite Hotel & Theater Restaurant Body Lotion Lotion Creme". They liked the idea of lotion so much they said it twice. If you're going to go all out, why not say 'Hotel & Theater Restaurant with Bathrooms Food Fun & Sleeping Luxurious Hot Body Lotion Lotion Creamy Creme'? C+.
Bizarrely, the winner of the design contest of 13-year old soaps is from Disney World, and I usually can't stand a lot of Disney emblazoning. In fact, I'm probably breaking some copyright code now by even showing you a picture of "M**key M**se" without permission.
But yet, the design of this shampoo and soap is way cool, and it still looks fresh and hip even thirteen years later (I was eleven when I went to Disneyworld, though it seems like only yesterday that I was watching Michael Jackson at Epcot Center. Sigh.). I like the close cropping of the Mickey on the label, and the font is fun and geometric with its filled in A's and O's. The size is also substantial while still being 'travel'-sized; I could see myself reusing the container with more soap and being a good little recycler. I assume these soaps were on the fancier side of hotel rooms, but I never stayed in an official Disney hotel room...so I have no idea where these came from. It's a mystery, but they get an A anyway.
Before I leave you with an apology that this post was so long, there's one more soap which gets an A+. I think I also used it once as a pet, because it has a little leash on it. Leash or no leash, it's probably the best soap in the history of bar soaps.
But it wasn't a soap...It was a soap...lobster.

Old Spice

Much to my surprise, I discovered that a couple of the spices in my parents' kitchen were dated from 1974. This is Nixon-era dill, we're talking here. And for some reason this wasn't really a problem. Personally, I love that special taste of 33-year-old oregano. What's that subtle flavor? Oh, I know. It's dead grass.

Back from Vacation with armfuls of Travel Soaps

Hi all,
My lack of posting last week was due to my vacation at home in Western New York with my family. It's amazing what just a week away from your usual surroundings will do to a person. I always enjoy returning to my 'home home' room, which is pretty much just the way I'd want it (and thankfully not converted to a sewing room). My apartment back in Pittsburgh now looks different, and is brighter (and tippier) than I remember it. I also opened the door to a bunch of boxes, which quickly reminded me that I'm moving to another apartment (just one building to the left of me) in just two days, and then flying to Boston, MA this next coming weekend! Next week also starts 'orientation' for new grad students, which is a sure reminder that my second year of grad school will start in just two weeks. What a busy August for Midnight.
But being home also reminded me of the joys of a swimming pool, hearing the crickets at night, laughing with my family, campfires, and barbecued chicken. It was certainly relaxing, to the point of boredom, but I don't think I'd want it any other way.
Be sure to stay tuned for stories of spices, sleeping without underwear, and amusing photos of a collection of travel soaps and shampoos that I had amassed over the last...ahem...13 years.

Heard in the Bushes

Twice now I've walked by a house on Negley Ave. and I have overheard a mom talking to her very young son, who sounds like he could be three years old. They play in the backyard, which must be tiny, but I can't see anything through the shrubbery. I do see a lot of broken bricks and mortar strewn along the ground, like a wall of a house was recently knocked down.
In any case, the first time I walked by I heard:

"You want to play with the bricks? Those bricks are heavy...Oh, don't put the bricks in the pool!"

But the next time I heard an even-better:

"Did you just pour bleach on these plants? No!!"

Oh, the Arctic Places You'll Go

Facebook has been introducing all these applications which you can add to your profile, including the 'Anonymous Comments' feature ('Hey! Your face looks like a butt, buttface!' and you'll never know who sent it to you) and a slide show of your favorite works of Art. However, I find fascinating the 'Where I've Been' application, which includes a feature to let your friends know what countries and states you've traveled to, lived in, and where you'd like to go. I was amused for a good chunk of time clicking on the countries I wanted to visit, and the selecting the piddly number of U.S. states I've seen (I haven't traveled west of Cleveland, OH save for a vacation to Hawaii!) but pleased that I've visited the little country like Monaco. It looks just like this vintage poster here, with it's fancy speeding race cars and population: 5 gazillionaires, 5,000 perfect palm trees.
But I wanted more than just clicking on every single Scandinavian country and desiring to go there, and my wants were satiated when I discovered that you can click on remote and scantly-populated countries, and you can even zoom in on tiny islands! Here is a sampling of where I'd like to go, proving that I will one day become the 6th gazillionaire of Monaco and be able to get myself to these locations via sumptuous-yet- earth-friendly transportation. Any travel companions?

In no particular order:

Svalbard. Archipelago of islands North of Norway. 2004 population: 2,765.
I'd like to visit here for the incredible-looking Arctic flowers that bloom and to see the wild polar bears roam about (they have "Polarbear Crossing" signs on the trails). There's a couple small towns, and a 'capital city' but no roads connect them. I'm most fascinated by Svalbard, however, by the Norwegian government which is currently building a "doomsday" seed depository there...in other words, a huge cement vault which will store as many seeds of plants in the world as possible, to secure future crops from the dangers of global warming or, oops, nuclear war. The tunnel will be built 120 meters into the rock (permafrost, of course) and have security guards protecting the doors.

Okay. So perhaps I won't be able to be a tourist to the Doomsday Seed Depository Museum any time soon. But who wouldn't want to play with these happy little creatures that just hopped out of the Norwegian Sea? So chilly! They look hungry, I'll give them some fish to eat!...Why aren't you eating? Oh, you're blocks of ice.


Next stop: Easter Island. Kind of a given.
2002 Population: 3,791.
It's kind of cliché by now, but I still think it's cool.
This island, between Chile and Tahiti in the Pacific Ocean, has too many tourists as it is for the fragile state of the island, but I still want to see all these stone heads. Maybe they'll whisper to me secrets like, how can I stand still for long periods of time and not fidget? Or, how can I find a man with a good head on his shoulders, a good strong chin? I bet these guys would tell it like it is.
Easter Island also has an ancient script, a writing called 'Rongorongo', which could be a form of writing that has had no outside influence. That's pretty amazing. I think everything I do, say, act, dress, write, listen to is taken or adapted from somewhere else. I can't imaging coming up with my own written language. 'Course, nobody can agree on if it's even writing at all, as no scientist has been able to translate, so the point is probably moot. I can see those ancient stone people now, coming up with clever ways to amuse themselves by thinking, 'boy, people in the future are sure going to go nuts when they see this!' (scribble scribble).

A brief hop over to Yap.
2003 population: 6,300 (this is the most densely-inhabited place so far.)
Part of Micronesia, Yap uses stone money! Here's an 8-feet-tall stone 'coin' of great wealth. I'm not making this up. The smallest money items are three inches tall, and everything is disk-shaped. Lately, though the stone money is still viewed as real and valuable currency, the U.S. dollar is used for every-day purchases, and that really disappoints me.
Of course, as a picker-upper for having to deal with silly U.S. dollars, you can also frolic with giant swarms of manta rays that gather around Yap. But watch out or you might Irwin yourself.
(Aside: I'd really like this photo caption to read: 'Giant Crusty Donut Still Munched on By Local Wildlife'. But I can't compete with 8-foot tall stone money.)

I'll discuss briefly the Faroe Islands. With a population of over 48,000, this collection of islands delegated by Denmark is practically a megalopolis compared to Yap or Svalbard.
Highlights include a beautiful colorful capital city, Tórshavn (see left), and inter-island transportation, which used to be mainly by boat or helicopter, but now one can commute by fabulous underwater tunnels.
The music scene here also thrives, though many young people move to Denmark after high school. However, several indie bands, folk musicians, and composers have come from the Faroes! I have only been fortunate enough to come across Teitur, but that's at least one.
As far as delicacies go, I don't suggest you accompany me on this trip unless you like mutton and whale meat. I'm still on the fence about the whales.

Our last stop will be one that I haven't visited, but I've heard a lot about. It's pretty remote as far as I can tell. We're going to visit the mysterious island of Long. Now the 'Long Island' as it has been called by the Natives, is heavily populated with indigenous people who have created their own dialect, often untranslatable by people who live relatively close on the Isle of the Manhattan. Long Islanders often wear big dangly earrings and tacky accoutrements, and place values on family, hard work, and densely-populated dwellings. I don't know if I really want to visit this Island of Long, but seeing how we've been flying around the world, we might as well stop in for some of the local 'cwawfee', don'cha think?

God out of a Machine

Wikipedia's users describe a 'deus ex machina' as "an unexpected, artificial, or improbable character, device, or event introduced suddenly in a work of fiction or drama to resolve a situation or untangle a plot (e.g. the rope that binds the hero's hands is luckily chewed off by a rat, or an angel suddenly appearing to solve problems)". I thought about how amusing this translated phrases is, literally 'God out of a machine'. I suppose I could have drawn the luminous figure of God appearing out of a vending machine, but that would probably be a little idolatrous. Funny, yes, but I'd probably have to obscure his face and all (God is secretly shy).
Instead, I chose to do some word-play. I like this version, in which God appears out of nowhere to rain and thunder on my parade. Notice that I'm only steps away from a church, where it's always sunny and beautiful. Perhaps a Target Ex Machina could suddenly send down a stylish umbrella? Or at least some galoshes for these sinners.

(Click on the image for a bigger version where all my photoshopping foibles show.)

Emotive Fireworks

A scene from the Fourth of July in Boston, Mass., which features synchronized fireworks to popular tunes.

Air thoughts, P thoughts, A through G thoughts

Air holds up sounds and brings them to my ears! I was sitting on Flagstaff Hill for lunch today and every once and a while the wind would carry the sounds of disembodied jazz to my ears, which was coming from live lunchtime music about a quarter mile down the street at Schenley Plaza. So cool! I also love when I can sometimes hear church bells at my apartment, carried by the breeze, when normally all I get for street noise is unsa-unsa-unsa ghettoblasting car sounds and the occasional dog-peeing-on-a-tree sound.
Speaking of peeing, I saw a drunk guy relieve himself on the door of the building across the street from mine in the middle of the night. Should I have been more of a good Samaritan, I would have loved to yell at him and startle him so he'd jump back and pee all over his pants and probably fall over, pants on ankles, onto his fratty face. And then kick him symbolically in the face for being such a loser. But you know, I wasn't feeling like much of a good Samaritan that night.
Speaking of good nights, I've finally been sleeping better after my sore throat has calmed down. The doctor called today and I had Strep Throat Type C. Last fall I had Type G (oo, a rarity). Before that I don't think I had strep throat in 10 years. But one day I might be lucky enough to collect all the letters. I hope I have to wait a good while for that.

100th Post!

I noticed on the blogger dashboard that I had just made my 99th post, and this one will be the 100th! It's a blogger anniversary of sorts.
On this momentous occassion, I thought I might share with you some tidbits of things which are happening around the time of the 100th post. I've also included a comic of me boring the 100th post into the ground with something like a sledgehammer. Which is totally not how one would put in fenceposts that look like that, I know. But I'm going for effect here, not accuracy.
-5.05pm is a special time. 5.05pm today signaled all the hunky metrosexual men in Pittsburgh to go out for a run, passing me as I walked home from work. Bless them and their beautiful toned biceps.
-Friendly visitors and one's curiosity about anything on the internet can make a boring desk job go by in a snap.
-Cakes baked from scratch are very impressive! I've seen two baked this weekend, a yellow layer cake with magenta buttercream frosting, and a green tea cake with neon green frosting.
And finally,
-If you get prescribed a medicine for sore throat called 'Magic Swizzle G', it will definitely not taste magical. It will taste like sh*t. Then, after you swish and gargle, you have to swallow it, "*" and all. Thank goodness my blog always tastes good. And I still have those mints from a dead woman on hand if you need one.

Sounds of the Orchestra of Birds

I recently started writing a piece for full orchestra, which is part of the curriculum here at CMU, with the School of Music's Philharmonic playing the piece in a concert. I had a discussion with my composition teacher Nancy Galbraith about the 'bureaucracy' of writing a piece like this.
I'd like to believe I just write music that is as good as I could make it for the specifics given, inspired by the world around me. However, there are so many other factors which influence music writing, consciously and subconsciously. It's an amazing opportunity to have an orchestra of sound at your disposal, and the possibility of an additional reading of the piece by the Pittsburgh Symphony. But both orchestras have limitations of instruments, rehearsal time, and even union obligations. The judge of the Symphony submission is the incredible John Corigliano, who I greatly admire. Then there's the chance at cold hard cash for the winner of the 'competition'. As I continue to write, to what extent will the work appeal to one group of people with a certain aesthetic sense? Will I make the work for my own personal growth, not caring about whether other people like it or not? I decided I'm not going to write a purely 'pop' piece, like I might be tempted to do. As fun as some dance-club beats would be, interspersed with clapping and pop music fragments, I'm here to write a more 'academic' piece and grow from that process. (Later, once the Icelandic Symphony gives me a call, I'll write them the dance-club piece on commission.) But I also don't think I want to write a purely emotional work, because it won't win the prize for being robust enough in form and development. As heartfelt as a 'lamentation' could be, it won't win any money because emotional works are not really 'competition winners'. And frankly, I'd like to attempt to win some money and pay back more student loan. I don't think there are any composers out there who'd rather not try and win the money, nah, that's okay, I'll pass. I'm gonna go home now and tape up my cardboard box for the winter.

My starting idea was Lake Myvatn, in Iceland (quel suprise), and the sounds that I might hear in my head that come from the changing weather there. Covered in ice in the winter, the lake is also a hotbed of volcanic activity. There are also millions of different birds on the lake in summertime, so I'm hoping to have some sort of sound representation of a in the orchestra, without using actual bird noises or bird calls (though I may pay a little tribute to Olivier Messaien, the composer king of birdsong). I think the drums will be busy with a lot of flapping wing noises. And maybe there could be some airy, distant chirps or something. The buzz of millions of mosquitos.

Fortunately, after our theoretical chat, I played what I have so far and Nancy liked my beginning work. I think I'm off to a good start with music that seems both Impressionistic/emotional, and intellectual and (hopefully) fun to play. I'm also writing the piece in a way I haven't done for a long time, writing a reduction down on paper from start to finish so that it can organically 'grow'. Usually, I come up with some snappy ideas and then plop them into the computer, and more or less piece them together, which has resulted in varied levels of success. This time, I don't want to write down the ending of the piece, and fill in the rest to catch up to it. I want the end to come on its own time. We'll see how that goes. I'm impatient when it comes to endings.

BIBLE

Overheard in Pittsburgh: An elderly woman on the 71A bus, Center Ave., wearing a grossly-oversized sweater emblazoned with the acronym 'B-I-B-L-E'.

"I'm from the old school, you know. Mmm-hmm. Where kids treat their parents with respect. None of that bossing their parents around. I've seen some crazy things nowadays. Kids with their pants around their ankles. No, sir! They don't know what they're doing. Probably sinners. Parents are cheatin' around. And don't even think about the gays! Homosexuality is a sin and those mortal sinners will burn in hell for eternity!! And bestiality. It's immoral. We gotta praise Jesus. Burning homosexuals in hellfire. It's an abomination. We gotta put faith in the Lord!! Well, it's my stop. Ride safe, and it was good to see you. Bye now."

(The response from the man sitting next to her as she gets off at her stop?
"Well, she means well, but she goes off on a tangent.")


Elderly women these days. You know, honey, I'm from the new school! Mmm-hmm! Where crazy elderly women treat their fellow bus-riders with respect!

Midnight Haircuts of Yesteryore

Hey kids! It's first-grade Midnight Shoveler. By popular demand, I've decided to dig a little into old photos to show the many transformations of Midnight Shoveler's hair since...birth. Well, almost birth. And along the way we get to see the changes in American culture , like, in the change from 'scrunchies' to 'no scrunchies'. It's pretty revolutionary. So hang onto your mouse buttons, kids, this could be a long post.
We'll start with the very beginning. This is me, circa first grade! Note the lovely hairdo which emphasizes that my face has yet to expand to the rest of the front of my head- I think it shows how big my brain must have been. A stylish cut, I must say, for not having a choice in the matter.

The gray striped shirt is around my eleventh year. I discovered 'the part', which is big news for an 11-year old. School photographers also discovered the ladder as the pre-eminent prop on school photo sets. I kind of want this haircut again.

My teenage years entered a long era of neo-hippiedom. I loved the tie-dye. I embraced all that is wonderfully New Age. I started to grow my hair long and wear lots of great retro items, like bellbottoms and a necklace with a holographic eyeball on it. I had the power to seem like I knew what it was like in the 1960's though I had little clue. Unfortunately, in the process of staking my own claim into my own hairstyles, I allowed my mother to have a say on one last haircut, which apparently gets its inspiration from either Swedish milkmaids or by placing a colander on one's head and then trimming all around. Don't forget really awkward bangs, either. But I think in this photo I was really excited about this flower arranging book I just got at a sweet bargain, so I'm showing it off in front of the local five-and-dime. A few years later, the hair is starting to grow, and I have one of the best mullets I have ever seen.
Seriously, I think this is one of the best pictures ever taken of me. If I had this much hair again, I'd probably have this haircut, because I could have the shaggy confidence to pull it off. Back in 1997, though, I was unawares at how many cool Scandinavians would be wearing my haircut a decade later! Here I'm just babysitting (note the pudgy baby). I also am wearing a delicious gold brocade vest without a shirt on underneath and canvas moccasins. Hot.
Okay, this time around, I'd skip out on the moccasins and the jean shorts. I'm just sayin'.

This picture's a little tippy, but it shows teenage me at equal-length long hair before it got really long. I like this length on me, and should have stopped when I had a good thing going.
It reminds me of some angsty teens who have good guitar skills and you know that down the road they'll do something interesting with their life. But for now, they just brood a lot. I wasn't that angsty, but I sure wanted to be.

Senior high school photos!

Rockin' out with the longest hair I've ever had, partying like it's 1999. I took some of the poses from art photography, but some, like 'Tiger in the Woods' type photo, were sort of improv. The theme of senior year was that I have some pretty cool shirts and my hair was too long, but I'm a better person now because of it. And I always keep my hair clean.


As college arrived, my hair went for a hike, and I came into the 'wings' period. I generally like this hair for its 1970's qualities. And its sheer abundance, which I now lack.

From then on, my hair sort of changes every few months, with several home-made haircuts and let-grow-outs of varied success. I went from a 'Farrah Fawcett' to a 'gay ninja' (complete with safety pins) to a 'Rufus Wainwright' to a quasi emo look with a scruffy beard within a year. This is also the first emergence of the facial hair for Midnight.

Of course, there was that one crazy night in college that I was a piano-playing drag queen with a platinum bob, but that was nothing compared to my freshman year roommate's hair.
There was also about five minutes where my hair stood straight on end.
I look pretty rough and tough here, n'est pas? Like I could rock-and-roll your face right off. That short phase didn't last long either. But the goatee did.
These hairstyles revolved a bit but pretty much stayed the same for several years, as my hairline gradually recedes and all the hairs I lose from my head get transplanted to my back. But I do think I will make a fairly stylish bald man, and I can wear a short beard pretty nicely, so I'm not too worried about the day that I run out of my warehouse supply of Rogaine.
In the recent past, bringing us up to present, I've had black hair:
And a sort of faux-hawk, which I cut myself:
And most recently, I've just been enjoying a 'do it up, do it down' kind of ease, especially good in hot summers.
I miss having thicker, non-receding hair. I feel like my hair is a part of my personality, like a good pair of glasses or a unique watch. But I know that no matter if I have blue hair or two-foot long hair, I'll probably still be friends with the same great people who don't feel afraid to tell me if I've missed a spot on the back of my head that I couldn't see to trim. If I could get a hair phase back for just a day, I think I'd ask the Hair Gods for circa 1998, when I could have put birds' nests in my long hair and braided it all crazy, but I was too shy then to try. One can only be so daring when there are gym class bullies around. Then again, maybe I'll soon be fed up with shampoo and I'll enjoy waking up with a freshly-shaved head, moisturized with baby oil, and all I need to do to wash it is slap a paper towel across my noggin', and I'm out the door. I'll probably be on my way to look into wearing hats. I hear hats are the new hair.


Photo credit where credit is due: the Hall household, Kate Casolaro, Jaime Gullotti, Erik Reuter. All images copyright 2007 Nathan Hall/Midnight Shoveler.

Like Taking Altoids from a Dead Woman

Last week, I helped a professor clean out the personal belongings of a much-loved opera diva who recently passed away. We took dozens of baskets and stacked them up, cleaned off all the shelves, packed up the photo albums, and recycled all the papers. We dusted off the picture frames, and taped up boxes to be sent to the singer's family. I emptied the desk of its paper clips, keys that don't unlock anything, and piles of letterhead, and there among the junk was a beautiful practically-new box of Altoids. Which I promptly stuck into my pocket at a moment when the professor I was helping would not notice. Is that wrong? It feels a little creepy, but was Ms. Opera Diva going to need them now? Not unless there's a need for fresh breath in the afterlife. I wasn't about to let good things go to waste. But I can picture the scenario where I'm not just in her studio, but at her funeral, and there amongst the casket belongings are some minty-fresh treats. And I just reach in.
I guess the point of the story is: I've been enjoying the mints of a dead woman, and my breath has never been fresher.

(Click on the photo for a bigger version with more detail.)

Postage Goes Up

Postage recently went up. Again. It's gonna cost me seven hundred dollars to mail this envelope. Maybe I should send an e-card instead. One with a talking cat. Yeah, that cat's funny.

Country-Club Loser Grafitti

I spotted some grafitti in the Music Building bathroom today which I had never seen before. It wasn't very kind to one of my professors.
It read:
"---- (name omitted) is a country-club loser wannabe and a closeted homosexual".
Underneath this, grafitti also read "Toilet Henge" and "For the Turd Time" so I'm thinking that that the allegations toward my professor are not very reputable.

Jewelry Whore

I thought this one could use a little color. You know when you go to a craft fair, and everyone's selling their goods, they've got their best products on display, with their bright lipsticks on and their cash in hand, ready and eager to please a willing customer...well, you know, it's just like this. Oh, wait, that's not a craft fair at all. That's a red light district. Or is it? If only the twain shall meet. There would be a sign on the table that reads something like this one. I can picture a low, smoky, gravel-filled voice saying "You want sumpin' pretty for your girlfriend, sweetheart? Or you want someone pretty for yourself? Heh heh. (Cough, cough.)"

And yes, I know that feet don't point like that in real life. I'm just illustrating a point, okay? Doesn't that eyeshadow just turn you on?

Lead Paint Chips

My landlady told me the other day that my new apartment has lead paint in it, which has been covered over by non-lead paint. Not a huge concern of mine, considering it could have asbestos in it instead, or growing mold from within. However, she made it a point to state it as thus:
"The walls have lead paint on them. So don't chip off the paint and then eat it. I'm serious."

This makes me wonder if she's had problems with this sort of thing in the past.