Let football season begin...

Last night, my status update about SEC being the best football conference got Clemson fans all up in arms. I was greeted this morning by several updates talking about how ACC is the best.

Now, I will admit, Clemson currently has bragging rights over USC in terms of being the better team. You are ranked higher (well, you're ranked) and you beat us last year.

But please, do not act like you have even remotely the schedule as us. Do not act like if our record turns up worse than yours, it means you are a better team. Yes, we do have some "gimmes", such as Wofford, but do not try to act like you are in the better football conference.

Exhibit A: An SEC team is the most recent national champion, but the most recent ACC national champion is 2001 with Miami (to add insult to injury, Clemson doesn't even play Miami in standard rotation. USC, however, plays both LSU and FL)
Exhibit B: An SEC team has won the national championship two years in a row.
Exhibit C: The current number 1 team is an SEC team
Exhibit D: There are currently 4, count them FOUR SEC teams in the top 10. There is only one ACC team.

So, as you all are trying for bragging rites again this year, just remember that you might beat US at the end of the season, but don't even act like you could compete in the same conference as the big boys of the SEC.

Let football season begin...

The most wonderful time of the year is back...

That right, folks, not Christmas (although, almost as expensive) but football season.

Starting next week, I will be breaking my garnet out, clearing my Saturday schedule, and resting my voice during the week. That's right, it's a CAROLINA GAMEDAY.

This is also the time of the year where we, the most loyal fans of the NCAA (and anyone who remembers the lines at the Russell House even when we were 0-14 knows) have hopeful dreams of that SEC title. Where we puff out our chests and tell people that we will be top 3 this year. And where we hope (hope) that Steve Spurrier can prove that he can recruit a quarterback whose skill matches his kicker's. (Or, can we please at least consider Succop for quarterback? Just sayin'...)

Still, win or lose, know this. Come next Thursday, the campers will be out, everyone will break out their coolers, and all of the sudden Hand Picked will be running low on garnet earrings and necklaces.

So, here's a health carolina, here's to a Carolina FIRST DOWN, and here's to finding a scalper who will give you UGA tickets for $20 because you're in a black cocktail dress.

GO COCKS!

Finding Your Voice

When I was 15, I went to see the Charlotte Symphony with my dad. There was this jazz vocalist that sang, and that was when I decided I wanted to become a music major and sing a solo with the symphony.

My freshman year at USC, I got that chance. After a wonderful bout with mono that left me exhausted, roommate-less, and single, I decided to audition for the mezzo soprano solo in Bloch's Sacred Service. I had taken an incomplete in voice at this point because my teacher didn't want me around the other voice majors (go figure!) so this was really my first private performance since then. I auditioned, and beat out a senior for the part. If you want to know how big of a deal this was for me at the time, and still kind of is, the guy who got the tenor part is now singing with the Metropolitan Opera in New York.

Now, I had fulfilled my dream. I got up and sang in front of a packed Koger Center (not as big as Belk or Blumenthal, but I'll take it). Nerves cannot begin to describe what I was feeling, but I was so thrilled.

After that, I wanted to concentrate fully on jazz performance. I know that a couple of people reading this might have heard me sing, but I don't think anyone's heard me sing jazz. I mean, REALLY sing jazz. Not only do I love it, but I am good. And anyone who knows me knows that I don't say that sincerely very often. But, I was at a school where vocal jazz was neither studied nor taught. For the record... if you want to find out if a school teaches jazz, ask them what their definition of jazz is. If they say Gershwin, they don't make the cut. No offense, Gershwin. You know I love you and you've been with me for a long time.

So, fast forward to 2 years ago. My music degree was sitting on a shelf collecting dust, so I decided to audition for the Charlotte Symphony. Not knowing what the competition level of it would be, I came in with my most polished Faure... and killed it. In the very bad, can't get back on rhythm, trying to find the correct register kind of way. But then it came to the sightreading, and I killed that. In the good, put others to shame, use full hand motions and solfege kind of way (thank you Jay). So I made it in.

After a semester I had to quit because of my job, which required me to go to Tuesday night meetings in Shelby. I wasn't happy, I really enjoyed singing with the symphony. I felt like such a grown-up, being backstage of the Blumenthal with great conductors and phenomenal musicians. But when I changed jobs I still decided not to go back because of CharlotteONE:.

Sunday night, I went with a couple of the symphony girls to an Opera Carolina event. Yes, the nerdiness involved in just that statement is palpable, but we really are not that bad. Promise. They asked if I was coming back this season. Everything in me wanted to tell them yes. I would love to be back on stage. But, since I've made the commitment to CharlotteONE:, I don't want to leave that behind, either.

Over the past year, I have been trying to get plugged back into singing in a way other than Charlotte Symphony. I sang with Forest Hill, but couldn't make the commitment to the church. I have sent off 6 or 7 inquiries to sing with other places and with other groups, but they've either bounced back or just not been responded to. I haven't even gone on an audition since my symphony audition 2 years ago.

I will tell you honestly that I miss music right now so much it hurts. I pass by a piano, and am so scared that after 3 years of not playing, I won't even remember where my fingers go. And no, playing the piano is not like riding a bike. You really can forget. I know that I couldn't even begin to play the bassoon anymore, and haven't played the flute in 10 years. I was watching a guy play sax the other night, and thinking how I had always wanted to transition from bassoon to sax, and how fun that would've been.

I'm just wondering if anyone else knows what it's like to lose the ability to continue a lifelong passion like this.

When I came back, I knew there would be a little more of a culture shock returning than what there was going. I've been thinking for the past few days and trying to put my finger on why that is, and I think I can break it down a little better.



The day before I left, I talked to a friend who elluded to thinking there were some plans for my life that I thought were already thwarted. Dreams that I had already given up successfully were put back at the forefront of my mind. On top of this, the normal "drama" of American life was here and happy to greet me. The first couple days I couldn't put my finger on what to be upset about. I mean, a LOT happened while I was gone, and a lot of life continued the way it was before, too.



But now that I've had time to sort things out in my brain, I think I've figured out how to sum it up. People told me that Africa would be a life-changing experience. People told me that it would move mountains for me, that my entire life would be planned out, and that I would come back an entirely new "me." So, when I came back and my problems weren't solved magically, I think I didn't know how to take it.



But now that it's been a week, I think I can wrap my head around some things, particularly why that was the wrong attitude to take. I think that if you expect mountains to move big time, you won't be grateful when they just tremble a little. Going out of the country has put more of a fire in my heart to pursue and research international economies, which is something I had been dabbling with for a while. Many of you know my plans for grad school, but I couldn't put a finger on why. I still probably can't, but I know that if I put all of my focus in international economics, that would give me the passion to get through. I know, the conversion rates of the dollar probably make most of your eyes glaze over and the discussion of nationalized healthcare probably makes you sick, particularly since this year it has been talked about more than ever. But for me, economics has always been a combination of my two loves: numbers and politics.



Secondly, I came back to people whose lives had moved on more in 10 days than I remember their lives moving in 3 months. And for me, who basically put my life on hold for 10 days so that I could go, that was pretty tough to take. To say that I'm competitive is an understatement. Why do you think I'm in fundraising?


I don't want to give people the wrong impression. It wasn't that it was a bad experience or that I didn't enjoy it. It's just that now that I'm back, I'm trying to figure out what life is after Africa...

Size 6 is Not Fat

So, I love Meg Cabot for mindless, poolside reads. I mean, her stuff is definitely not intelligent (no offense, Meg, you know I love you), but it is fun. I got a friend of mine hooked on her Boy Meets Girl series, that uses a mixture of e-mails, letters, and other correspondence to tell a story.



The last of her books that I read was Size 14 Isn't Fat, Either. I didn't read Size 12 is not fat, but from the title I can figure it out. Particularly since my mindless poolside reads have also included Devil Wears Prada, which for anyone who has read the book or watched the movie knows, talks about how size 2 is the ideal for women.

Over the summer, though, I started getting pretty bummed about my weight. I am one of those weirdos (or normal people?) who gains weight that is not evenly disbursed. Very annoying. But I was noticing in pictures where the rest of me was starting to catch up. So when I was in Africa, I made the decision to suck it up and get a gym membership when I got back, if I could find one for $25 or less. So, the first day back at work, Peak Fitness was there with a huge sign saying, "Memberships $25/month." Yup. I'm a sucker.



So I got my gym membership, and along with it came a free personal training session. They did all of the measurements, weight, BMI, etc... And guess what? Even though my size 6 pants are loose, I was on the high end bordering unhealthy (but not quite there) according to my BMI.

For the past month, I have gone to the gym three days a week. I haven't lost any weight, which is extremely depressing, but my endurance and physical capabilities have greatly improved. A normal day now includes running 3 miles and the weights have steadily increased (I've been told that there's a point where women need to watch that, though, to keep a "womanly" figure.)

I'm very excited to go back and have my BMI checked again. But even more than that, I'm excited to start running and working out with people actually in shape.

I'm sure you haven't been asked that, yet...

"How was Africa?"

People keep asking how it was, and to sum up everything in a 2-minute speech has been very difficult. It was everything that I expected, and nothing that I expected. After a year of getting submersed in Africa education by two good friends obsessed with Africa, I knew of some things to expect. I knew it would be dusty. I knew there would be abandoned and broken down buildings. I knew that being white, I would stick out like a sore thumb.

But nothing could have truly prepared me for what I would see. In ways, none of it was huge to me because a lot of it I knew what to expect. Like when I went to New York, I realized that I worried way too much beforehand about safety. We got there, and while it was very difficult to put my trust in people I didn't know, I also never felt unsafe that I recall. OK, never mind, scratch that... maneuvering around spikes in the road at 10PM after just getting off the plane was slightly scary. Particularly since we had been warned that there would be guards everywhere that we went (for the record, I saw 3 the entire week.)

When we got to the orphanage, I have to say nothing really surprised me. The kids were just like kids here. Except quiet, and very well-behaved. Oh, and they spoke in adorable accents that almost always led me to have to ask about 4 times what they said. I am first and foremost a musician, so hearing them sing and worship was just indescribable and amazing. And then, like kids here, they just wanted time with us. Any time that we could spend talking and listening was amazing.

The first few days there, I spent really missing people back home. I left the walking Africa encyclopedia here, so I had a hard time not being able to pick up the phone and ask him what was going on. But as the week wore on, I gained more comfort with the children, and even asked their thoughts on the war. I wish instead of reading the newspaper or checking out the aol.com blurbs, I always could be lucky enough to hear the stories directly from the source.

I asked about their tribes, and how that effected them within the center. She said that as soon as they get to the center, they learn that they are now a new tribe. They are all one. Many of them do not speak their tribal language anymore. They are there to help out each other.

We were really shocked by that. In America, we explained, kids are doing anything they can to form tribes. Whether it's through a clique or through gangs, kids want anything to belong and feel as if they are a part of something bigger.

So, the obvious questions. Was it hot? No. It was freezing the entire week. And I'm not being sarcastic. The picture below is of Derek's feet. He was walking around in the mud and rain with these socks and boots on. It made us very sad.