dear friends, friends of friends, and those who watched from the wings but never said a word,

after three years of jimmy-rigged html templates and hundreds of emotional rants, i think it's time to put an end to the narcissism.

thanks for reading.

i encourage you to send me an email if you want to know how i'm making out with the music, the degree, the new house, teaching, graduate school preparation, and all of that rot: aecrawford@wesleyan.edu

if you'd simply like to make-out, i encourage you to send me emails of that nature as well.

peace,
amy  ¶ 19:57

  Okay, I lied about the posting.

Here's a slideshow of my class' trip to the Yale University power facilities.

I'm famous! Woohoo!

http://www.explo.org/ens/slideshows/slide_702.shtml

  ¶ 17:12

  Exploration is starting tomorrow. I doubt I'll be posting over the next six weeks. Hopefully none of my links will turn into porn sites while I'm gone, like last time. Damn you and your old URL, Sex Mob.

And there's a picture of me dressed as a giant lanyard, ("traponza" in Explo-speak) from announcements on Friday, somewhere on the website - it's worth hunting for. Brian (my boss) was a giant ID card. We danced to the love theme from Romeo and Juliet in the middle of the quad.

Orientation went fabulously, the office is running in tip-top shape, and I start teaching my environmental policy course on Monday. Performed at the staff talent night yesterday with Donald, one of our webmasters, who just graduated from Macalester in music (jazz guitar) and comp. sci. Felt damn good to throw an arrangement together and give it a go, unrehearsed, in front of everyone.

This is a fucking special place. You should visit and see what I mean.

Take care, ya'll.

"I love my job, I love my job, I love my job!"  ¶ 21:04

  Right this moment, I have one of those headaches that usually serves to remind you of the wonderful day you spent in the sun, out for hours without a hat or sunscreen, that puts you to sleep early in the night without dreams.

Lately, a feeling of panic has taken over the way I understand events as they unfold before me; there is no urgency, however, in my actions. I'm lazily cognizant of what's been going on in my life - a mental state akin to sleeping through the afternoon with the alarm clock buzzing for hours.

Today, I've decided that I love the original take of _Flamenco Sketches_ more so than the alternate take on Miles Davis' _Kind of Blue_. The album is one, like many, that I grew up hearing in the background at dinner, was lectured about at jazz camp, and saw banned from friends' and mentors' "top 5" lists because it was, of course, too obvious of a choice.

I didn't really discover jazz on my own, nor did I ever find the brilliance in a single solo line or a method of tune arrangement without being told why it was brilliant, for several years. I don't think it was until I reached my freshman year of college, actually - a time when I was suddenly alone in my musical tastes, and had to justify my passion for what I listened to for others - that listening to something like Davis could inspire an emotional reaction on my part. Sharing this music with my peers required that I come up with reasons for them to open their ears, which required that I really take a good listen first. Despite the fact that I didn't touch a piano for several of those months, I finally, genuinely, fell in love with jazz. I was no longer being spoon-fed the greats; I had to find them on my own, and I had to use my own ears to locate the beauty and the statement.

I'm fascinated, therefore, to go back to many of those obvious "top-5" list recordings with new ears. I've heard _Kind of Blue_ hundreds of times in various settings, but I had never listened critically, because others had done that job for me. I had my own Cliff's Notes version of jazz criticism at my disposal for seven years in the form of my teachers, and I abused that information, to my own disadvantage.

I feel like I just recently read an important quote about criticism and passion, but I can't remember what it was. Dammit.

  ¶ 22:09

  THE SAGA CONTINUES...

SprWndrGrl: i need to think of a "plot"
SprWndrGrl: notice that "plot" is in quotation marks
mosscollege: yeah
mosscollege: let it come to you
SprWndrGrl: she woke up, sweating, panting, and clumsily reached to find her glasses on her night table. what was the time? 5:43 am. another bad dream. no one to turn to. "you're alone, jane," jane muttered to herself. her 5th avenue apartment, decorated in cool lavenders and furnished with sleek black kitchen appliances, contained only jane. allen was, of course, nowhere to be found. all that was left of him was a single note, still tacked to the cold black refrigerator door, right where jane had found it earlier that day:
SprWndrGrl: "jane, i love you too much for your own good. please forgive me. goodbye forever, allen."
mosscollege: haha
mosscollege: that's terrific
mosscollege: will you go back in time and tell the story of how allen left?
mosscollege: or let it slowly creep in as jane starts life anew?
SprWndrGrl: allen and jane had met one afternoon in her favorite coffee shop in the east village. she was a hip, up-and-coming style editor for Fashion Forward magazine. he was a young, optimistic barista who hoped to make it big on broadway. despite their different backgrounds - jane having been raised amongst the new york elite, and allen paying his dues as an orphan farm boy in iowa - sparks flew from the moment jane parted her full red lips to ask for "the usual" - a skim mocha with extra foam.
SprWndrGrl: it had been an order allen was more than willing to fill, and then some. little did jane know that she could wield as much power over allen in the bedroom as she did at the coffee bar that fateful day.
SprWndrGrl: I'M SO GOOD AT THIS
mosscollege: HAHAHAHA   ¶ 02:26

  SprWndrGrl: i just watched bridget jones' diary
SprWndrGrl: oh, that was a mood enhancer
mosscollege: what's it about
?
SprWndrGrl: about a fat, chainsmoking thirty-something woman who can't find love
SprWndrGrl: played by a 30 lb overweight rene zellweger (sp)
SprWndrGrl: made me want a cigarette
mosscollege: um
mosscollege: great
SprWndrGrl: oh yes, surely
SprWndrGrl: you know, maybe i should just write a floozy of a shopping novel
SprWndrGrl: i'd make millions
SprWndrGrl: and wear gucci
SprWndrGrl: i'm melodramatic enough
SprWndrGrl: i'm a decent writer
SprWndrGrl: and i like eyeshadow
mosscollege: haha
mosscollege: what would you title your book?
SprWndrGrl: "well, that's the end of that," sighed sally as she flopped down onto her queen-size waterbed overlooking central park from the 27th floor of the waldorf-astoria. mark was gone for good. the pictures, the cards, the flowers, the chocolate - all for naught.
mosscollege: haha
SprWndrGrl: sally was a sucessful editor for Style Now magazine
mosscollege: omg, you should totally write this
mosscollege: i'm serious
SprWndrGrl: 32, attractive
mosscollege: and i'll finish my folktake
SprWndrGrl: originally from california, but had received her masters in journalism from columbia.
mosscollege: and we'll read them to each other at explo
mosscollege: please please please
SprWndrGrl: she'd spent her life in and out of relationships
SprWndrGrl: john, joey, samuel, dan, matthew, george
SprWndrGrl: but had left each man with ringless fingers
SprWndrGrl: when would it be her turn to find love?
SprWndrGrl: the phone rang.
SprWndrGrl: "hello, this is sally,"
SprWndrGrl: "sally, this is your mother." it was sally's mother.
SprWndrGrl: "hi, mom."
SprWndrGrl: "so sally, when are you going to get married? i'm old and rich and a bitch and i'm going to drive this plot forward," she exclaimed
SprWndrGrl: okay, i'm done.
mosscollege: please will you write this?
SprWndrGrl: really?
mosscollege: YES!
mosscollege: i am serious
mosscollege: it will be good for you i think   ¶ 01:57

  NEWPORT JAZZ FESTIVAL 50TH ANNIVERSARY AUGUST 14-16 COME WITH ME PLEASE THANK YOU

ABBEY LINCOLN AND ORNETTE COLEMAN TOGETHER AT CARNEGIE HALL JUNE 20 COME WITH ME TO THAT TOO AND THEN DRIVE ME TO EXPLO THE NEXT MORNING PLEASE THANK YOU  ¶ 14:49