Today was one of those days.
from Playhouse Square, downtown:
The tour of The Palace Theater was the highlight of the trip--and I know all my fellow theatre geeks out there would agree with me. It was astounding. As implied by the name, it strives to be as luxurious and as opulent as a palace. And it kind of is.
Isn't it strange how history can make something special? A guitar played by John Lennon is more valuable than a guitar played by me. Any role made famous by someone is automatically a challenge to live up too. An original copy of any famous manuscript becomes part of a larger story--the story of its inception, creation, and evolution.
The theatre was beautiful. The artwork integrated into it was fascinating and wonderful. But what really made that theater special was its history. The Palace Theater was a vaudeville theater first. It has been host to the likes of Bob Hope, George Burns and Gracie Allen. The Three Stooges have performed there. On a side note, I must say, I love vaudeville. It's an art form like no other-- a conglomeration of freaks and outcasts, making the most of their outrageous personalities by entertaining people on stage. It was like running off to join the circus--performing became a method of escape, an avenue for talent, and a popular public form of entertainment, all at the same time. Stand up comedy is similar to vaudeville in this way. Comedy is, and remains, a relentlessly effective way of telling the truth.
After the Palace Theater was a vaudeville stage, it was a silent movie theater--complete with a specialized piano/organ for musical accompaniment to the films. After that, it became a venue for talkies, the piano surviving as an intro form of entertainment and a part time accompanist. After that, it was a derelict old building that was going to be torn down before a determined teacher saved it and turned it into a playhouse. What was originally scheduled to be a two week run of "Jaques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris," was so popular within it's first week that it went on to run for two and half years.
Points to Cleveland.
Fact of the Day: Playhouse Square is the largest theatre district west of New York City.
from CWRU, University Circle:
We play ERS (egyptian rattlesnake screw-- no idea why it's called that)-- and toss around a football whilst kicking around a football. It's a insanely beautiful day. Not fall weather, but not summer weather either. Cleveland's picture perfect clear blue sky must be matched in intensity only by the devastatingly endless snow and rain that is winter during the months of November to April.
We're learning about freshman tells. Their are--clearly--a lot of them. Some of them are pretty straightforward. Counterintuitive pronunciation of building names, for example. Thwing is pronounced Twing. The "h" is silent. Adelbrand is pronounced a-del-brand, like Adele the singer, with emphasis on the "del." Some others seem obvious: don't wear you key and ID card on your keychain lanyard (you know-- the one they gave you at check in for orientation?) They're all variations on the same new-kid theme though. Don't make it obvious that you don't belong here.
It's a fun topic to think about, but in the end I can't help think that it doesn't really matter. I found myself speaking in cliches when I opened up to a senior friend of mine here about the experience of college. I find myself saying, "It's like...here you can be anyone you want to be--because no one knows who you are."
Really, it's like you're starting over. A new school, new people, etcetera. It's strange though. I had a concept of what freshman year would be like, and this isn't it. After graduating high school, you're more yourself in your exploration of the world. I find myself taking chances more easily, speaking boldly more often, and taking confidence in my idea of myself. Being "who you are" isn't a challenge any longer--because I can be anyone. The last chapter of the book is blank. There are only my own expectations to fill.
from Cleveland Orchestra, Blossom Music Center:
I'm on a bus. It's inelegant mode of travel for such an elegant destination. We're on our way to watch the Cleveland orchestra perform Rite of Spring, with appropriate ballet accompaniment--and I kind of feel like I've come full circle.
I've been hearing accidental references to Raleigh Charter all day, and they always hit me the same way. At first, I'm excited. There is an immediate leap of enthusiasm. The kind of enthusiasm you feel when you realize you are familiar with the topic of conversation, even when surrounded by unfamiliar company. The "I-can-talk-about-this-feeling." Confidence. Security.
Then, a distant kind of melancholy, as I realize that I will have to struggle to explain my references. That I can't just say--"that reminds me of something I heard in Dr. B's class" and expect my fellow freshman to understand. I have to translate here. I think everyone in my group experiences the same struggle to communicate, at least initially. With uncommon backgrounds, it is difficult to be quick with your words. I can hear the pauses in the conversation, where my fellow freshman endeavor to find different ways of phrasing, or make pronouns into adjectives.
I'm so incredibly excited that we're going to see Rite of Spring that I feel an immediate urge to tell someone who will really know WHY. Why I'm so excited. Why this entire trip seems like the missing puzzle price to me, in my experience of school, in my experience of philosophic thought, in my experience of Stravinsky. It is the completion of something.
I think I get why Sam is so attached to Band now. No matter where you go, you have a common base of experience and knowledge with other musicians. A very specific common base of experience. The girl on the trip who knows who composed Rite of Spring is a clarinetist.
I think I'm underestimating my class. As I get to know them better, I understand that they're just as passionate, and smart, and FUN as any of the students at Raleigh Charter. I expect them to be the people I know--it's not particularly fair. This is the summer version of ourselves, after all. Classes haven't even started yet, and we still had a conversation about the morality and the effectiveness of the death penalty over lunch. These students are strong in their convictions. And then we went back to the commons and played ERS for an hour. These students are also both merciless and fearless in their jokes.
Conversation is easy and physical presence comfortable. I think I'm gonna like it here.
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