Quick Fact Sunday

I can't whistle.

I've always tried - ever since I was little - but never been able to get anything more than a breathy, barely audible squeak out. I'm convinced it's a result of years of playing the flute and piccolo...the embouchure, the muscles around the mouth, is totally different to play a flute than to whistle. While it looks like to whistle, one needs to pucker up the lips and focus the sound straight out, flutists tighten the corners and soften the bottom lip, controlling the air stream out and over a flute's mouthpiece. 

You'd think, after five-plus years without touching a flute or picc, I'd be able to change things and get a whistle out, but I guess old habits die hard. After the sheer amount of flute-and-picc playing I did as a high school and college student, it must just be too ingrained in me...oh well! 

Quick Fact Sunday: Volume 7

My biggest phobia is the sensation of falling. 

I'm not afraid of heights per se - I'm fine with flying, I love overlooks and the top floor of skyscrapers and the kind of views you can only get from on high. That said, I am an utter and complete chicken-shit when that view/height/whatever isn't protected and enclosed somehow by a fence or guard rail or, ideally, a wall with a window. 

Examples: 

Referenced here, going in the lighting rigs of the Chicago Lyric Opera. 

Putting a brave face on it at the Cliffs of Moher. I say no thank you to the idea of plunging 700 feet from a muddy path into an ocean of certain death, thanks. 

Also, Grand Canyon. David's ability to just sit and hang over the edge? Not for me, not at all. 

This was the closest I got to the edge...and you can honestly see the terror in my rictus grin and clenchy fingers. 

The worst for me is when I have the kind of dream, or in-between sleeping and wakefulness moment, when I actually feel the sensation of falling without ever moving. The sick swoop of my stomach, the moment of impact seconds away, and jerking awake with a flood of adrenaline to every nerve...I inevitably never really get back to sleep after that. 

I can handle spiders, can deal with the dark, but falling in general...not so much. Make of that what you will...maybe I'm a control freak? Maybe I can't let myself just go? Who knows...per Freud, these dreams can symbolize anything from "a traumatic experience in childhood" to "a fear of the loss of self-control" or "a decline of the accepted moral standard." 

At any rate, don't ask me to go skydiving, and if you're headed to Splash Mountain, I'll happily take pictures from the sidelines. 

Quick Fact Sunday, Volume 6

I am obsessed with the Olympics. 

I mean, who isn't? My love for them dates all the way back to the Magnificent Seven in the 1996 Summer Olympics. The team included Dominique Dawes and Dominique Moceanu, and I remember thinking that "Dominique" must just be the honorific for an elite gymnast, much like you call a doctor a doctor. Ha! Plus, I wanted one of those American flag warm-up jackets in the WORST way. Such a 90's child. 

My passion for the Olympics only grew as I fell in love with Tara Lipinski and Michelle Kwan during the 1998 Winter Olympics, which inspired a brief, ill-starred flirtation with figure skating. I was terrible, and gave it up pretty much instantaneously after I realized that I wasn't going to get to wear sparkly costumes and have people throwing bouquets and teddy bears at me every practice...narcissist from the start, huh? 

So many great memories...watching the 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics (I still have my own copy of the Roots official team beret!), falling madly for Michael Phelps in the 2004 Athens games, tuning into Vancouver in 2010 from London and fighting the time difference the whole way through. And of course, this totally made my life during the London 2012 games...oh my gosh, that entire Olympics made my life, let's be real. 

Also from the London Olympics, the best thing to ever hit the Internet, Go Fug Yourself's "Olympic Abs" slideshow. Ladies, do yourselves a favor and please go admire. It will start your entire week off on the right note. 

My senior year, I even took a class on the Olympics...Dr. Ken Dye, Director of Bands, arranged and composed music for the Sydney Olympic games. His class, "Music and the Olympics," explored the intersection of music and sport and dove into deep detail on each of the modern Olympic games. While the class was a true senior "slacker class," composed primarily of marching band kids who worshiped Dye and athletes who needed a fine art credit, I absolutely adored it and loved his firsthand accounts of directing the recording of the music for the opening ceremonies. 

These Olympics are extra-exciting for me, as, like London, I've actually been to Rio! Ken Dye took the Concert Band down right after I graduated college, and we spent two weeks touring beautiful Brazil. I've sunbathed on Copacabana Beach, hiked to Christ the Redeemer, and viewed some of the Olympic venues from the top of Corcovado!

These days, my Olympic dreams are confined to the annual Beer Olympics over Labor Day at Greg's cabin, and I missed the bulk of the last few days as I was at Kelsie's cabin drinking like a gold medalist. That said, if you need me in the next few weeks, I'm almost sure to be glued to NBC watching the games...Citius, Altius, Fortius, and here's to many, many gold medals for the USA! 

Quick Fact Sunday, Volume 5

I am ridiculously, absurdly, obscenely into "The Bachelor" franchise. 

It was kind of hard to avoid getting really, really into it when I lived in an all-girls dorm for four years in college. Much less when I quickly found out that a ton of my girlfriends were also super into it. I've been watching it with a healthy dose of cynicism and snarky side commentary since DeAnna Pappas's season in, oh my god, 2008...how are we this old? 

From there on out, it was an addiction I barely tried to hide. I laughed at Jason Mesnick's switcheroo on "After the Final Rose," fell in love with Jillian Harris (and judged her hard for turning down Kiptyn, boo!), and died over the drama of Jake and Vienna, Ben and Courtney, and the dumpster fire that was Juan Pablo. I even follow Ben and Lauren, the most recent couple, on Instagram...my shame knows no bounds. To this day, I watch it with Hannah or Kelsie, and text a few friends running commentary on the episodes throughout. It's sheer vapid escapist fun at its best. 

While "The Bachelor" will always have my heart because of how just plain crazy 25 women competing for a man can get, "The Bachelorette" is off to a stellar start this year. For starters, Jojo, the Bachelorette, is gorgeous...

...and for seconders, she has a cast of absolutely crazy guys, including Aaron Rodgers's little brother and Chad, a roided-out Gaston wannabe who eats lunch meat like I eat TicTacs. The season is already gearing up to be the! most dramatic! season! in Bachelor! HISTORY!, and I'm so excited to watch along...even though I'm missing this week's double-header of Monday and Tuesday episodes due to our trip. 

Any other superfans out there? If so, let's rendezvous next Monday. I'll provide the wine and fancy cheese! 

Quick Fact Sunday, Volume 4

Fact: If I could see any artist in concert, living or dead, it would be Billy Joel.

Of course I love the Piano Man because of “Piano Man,” and the number of times I’ve drunkenly circled up with friends at the Backer or to close out a wedding and belted out the words. For me, though, love for Billy Joel goes back to middle school, taking piano lessons from my cool new coach who was all about pop music for the first time in my performance history. Instead of Brahms and Beethoven, we played new Broadway hits and Five for Fighting and, one day, he brought out the giant, two-volume “Billy Joel Complete” collection. I knew maybe five songs…”Uptown Girl” and “We Didn’t Start the Fire,” and of course “Piano Man,” plus “Only the Good Die Young” and “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant.” Little did I know, I was about to fall in love.

I did, and quickly played my way through a solid chunk of the book, working to come as close to perfecting “Prelude/Angry Young Man” as possible, getting the shivers over “Summer, Highland Falls,” and hoping for a love life that would someday measure up to “She’s Got A Way.” My mom bought me “Turnstiles” on CD that afternoon, and I listened to it on repeat for weeks. “Cold Spring Harbor” was my next stop, and from there on out, it was down the rabbit hole for me.

I dream of someday seeing “Moving Out” on Broadway tour, and know that I’ll likely never see the man himself in action live. If I could go to any of his concerts though, I think I’d pick Live at Shea. He opened with “Prelude,” he played all my faves, and the recordings, which I regularly Spotify, are just fantastic.

Until someone invents a time machine and gets me back to his golden era of performing with enough cash for a ticket, I’ll be hanging out at the piano occasionally with that well-loved anthology or driving down the highway belting out every word. The Piano Man is my favorite.