May Connections and Alternate Universe

As far back as October, I laid out my plans to make this month, May 2020, all about tying into May 2006. That was the end of my time as a grad student. I have some unfinished business, including coming back to several composition projects, as well as the desire to "reconnect for keeps" with old friends, as was my 2019 New Year's (failed) resolution. The last two times I devoted a week to trying to rekindle old friendships from Bowling Green, I was left wanting. Left feeling ignored, abandoned, forgotten.

Before the coronavirus shut down schools everywhere, my whole point was to tap into that end-of-school feeling which would inevitably be in the air. Spring Fever. Senioritis. Graduation season. You know, May. I was going to Twitter-troll some Ivory Tower gatekeepers, too. I was going to use that pervasive May vibe of bittersweet endings to connect with people. Alas, coronavirus.

But I have been sticking with my own eccentric plans to ritualize nostalgic indulgences for the sake of constructing a wormhole that begins in May 2020 and ends in May 2006, then loops back.

My two goals, I assure you, are noble and worthwhile (the rest are not, of that I also assure you). First, I am using the month of May as a motivator (and therefore, June 1st is my self-imposed deadline to move on to other things) for working on some archival projects that I intend to put on my eventual music website. Several composition projects, albeit of low priority in the grand scheme of things. But if I don't set aside this month for them, they'll never get done. Hey, even then, they probably won't get done.

Second, as I said, is to reclaim the Light Side of Bowling Green. The good people. As atrocious as BGSU was, I also made some of the finest friendships any human being could ask for. But they all faded. Such is the tragedy. I would like to get them back. If only I knew how.

The "social distancing" of this quarantine has been harder for some people. Some of you feel isolated and disconnected to a poignant degree. I can't help but feel you've been brought down to my level, like "Welcome to my world." I've felt this way for over a decade, struggling to stay in touch with people from a distance, feeling forgotten. I accept that when you're in a new walk of life, your priorities shift, and you focus on what is immediate to your everyday awareness. I understand the nature of moving on in life, that we were never meant to stay in that mental time and place forever, obviously. Nor should we ever want to remain static. I accept that I was always going to become relegated to "old friend" at a distance, but I don't accept that I have to fade away completely.

I'm still working on figuring out a feasible endgame for that second goal.

As for my other goals and shenanigans... to quote Malcolm Reynolds, "I aim to misbehave."

Spring 2006 Alternate Universe
How my final semester should have played out, had the composition faculty (in this case, my thesis committee of Elainie Lillios and Marilyn Shrude, both of whom I have sworn a lifelong vendetta against) not royall screwed me over...

I'm not going to aggravate myself by rehashing the infamous saga of how the faculty of BGSU fucked me over. It's just too much detail to recap.

What should have happened...

I should have finished my thesis composition in December, since I'd started months before anyone else. I would have spent January making the necessary revisions and preparations for my thesis defense. Then, come February, I would have had all spring to look forward to, enjoying the spoils of war, the fruits of my intensely hard labor. I could have finally composed the music I wanted to write, to learn the things I'd come to grad school to learn in the first place, those things that were never even taught to me by those failures of professors.

And, above all, I would have had a lot of free time to invest in deepening those friendships.

And so it was(n't), that I started my final semester as the victor (in this alternate universe), turning an abysmal graduate studies program around in my favor, as Noah Taylor and I schemed about doing in the summer of 2005 between years, over lunch at Max & Erma's. He had a way of selling you on the most optimistic outcome of events. But Summer of 2005 is another blog post entirely.

And so I would have turned it around, into a season of renown among my peers, a personal sense of accomplishment, satisfaction, glory, glamour, prestige... well, whatever. Something like that.

This isn't for vanity's sake.

There are several composition projects that were stalled in varying stages of development (many of which were simply conceptual sketches) that I was unable to get around to finishing because Lillios decided to keep me stuck in the same Goddamn lesson on a hellish loop for the whole fucking year, not letting me move on. She wasted my time, to keep me tucked away out of sight, and as paranoid and delusional as that sounds to the newcomer and casual reader with short memory, this much is a fucking well-established fact. So, instead of lay it all out for you again for umpteen more paragraphs in order to convince you, I'm going to assume that you can just accept that premise and go with me on this...

With that precious little time this May that my two small children will allow me to concentrate, I intend on polishing some old files, even composing the remainder of these unfinished works, for the sake of an "archive" tab on a future professional composer website that no one will ever give a shit about anyway, all for the sake of closure, for completionism, whatever you want to call it. The Spring 2006 that should have been.

I did try to get as much quality time with my peers as I could. But when I came up with the best-laid plans of mice and men, in October 2005 when it all became clear in my head, I envisioned March 2006 to be the true beginning of a three-month period in which I would reap the benefits. Spring in full swing, continuing a sort of social playground of vignettes I could drift in and out of as I wandered productively forward. Snapshots of camaraderie, excerpts of banter.

In April, the university orchestra was offering readings of students' works. If Lillios hadn't held me back, given the fact that the composition was actually finished at that time, I could have had an actual fucking live recording of my thesis orchestral composition, and that is also a fucking fact.

Imagine if I'd spearheaded a sort of anti-Praecepta recital. Praecepta was the student-run organization that I was conscripted into when I first arrived at BGSU, an organization purportedly to promote New Music by students, yet never in my time as a member were they ever willing to program one of my works! How odd. How telling. How convenient for them. Not once in four semesters? It was always "not the right time" or "not the right sound for this concert." Yeah, I always fucking hated Praecepta, and going to the meetings hoping to turn it around always made me want to punch a wall on the way out. Sometimes I did punch a wall. There's a whole other blog post about Anti-Praecepta that could spin off of this, but I digress. Imagine a program of student compositions inspired by film music, that aesthetic which some of my peers so despised and derided. It would have been a glorious "fuck you" to Praecepta. The awkward after-recital reception in the Green Room would have been a feather in my cap.

Then, May 2006... a time of victory. The final chapter. The redemption of a shitty two years. Glory and prestige. Mutual support among peers. Pats on backs all around. And plenty of time for many deepening friendships. It's not too much to ask for free time in your last month there. The faculty fucked us out of it. Or at least they did me.

Spring 2006 Alternate Universe. The freedom (and pleasure) of composing a lot more music--music that people enjoyed hearing. And the bonding of fellow composers after a concert.

That's how it should have been. Had the faculty been the nurturing sort they were supposed to be. So, this month I am all about trying to be productive while fantasizing about a daily itinerary. As much as I can, I try to do this by proxy...

Itinerary:
In the morning, compose. Maybe at my tiny shack at 121 North Enterprise, maybe even sitting in the conference room at the coffee shop called Grounds for Thought with a companion or two.
Lunch break. Perhaps at Pita Pit. Yeah, Scott Blanchard and I loved that place. Walking distance to our houses, too.
After lunch, take a break to read more of the 19-book series the reading of which spanned (and even defined) my second year of grad school: Star Wars: The New Jedi Order. Or the Republic series of comic books that were released as Trade Paperback compilations under the title Clone Wars. You know, time for a fictional intermission for allegorical inspiration on your path to defeating your grad school enemies. My two favorite characters of each saga, respectively, by far were Jacen Solo and Quinlan Vos. They saw me through that shitty second year. But I digress. Again.
Then, it's off to the rec center to workout, then a solo Shotokan training session (I was gearing up for a glorious move to Kansas City after Bowling Green, where in reality I did get to train under Eric Banks as planned.)
By 4:00, I'm showered and playing video games with Scott as a sort of pre-party ritual. Red Faction II Deathmatch mode, Dr. Mario, Tiger Woods PGA 2003, and maybe taking turns with cheat code rampages on GTA: San Andreas. Those were our top games that we never tired of, though there were others in the rotation.
Then, dinner... the rest is up for grabs and improvisation. That's where you come in. Where do you wanna eat? Or just save money and eat at home, then meet somewhere for drinks? Or bowling? Grumpy Dave's? Beckett's? What's the plan? We're up for anything. It's May 2006, and we're all going our separate ways soon, so let's party.

This is on my mind lately. Deliberately. I choose for it to be on my mind.

All month long, baby. It's a Bowling Green extravaganza. As long as it keeps me productive, why not?

But that's all the Light Side. Throwing a Frisbee with Josh Kalichman to the loud jams of Beck in the grass by that painted rock (which is no longer there, as they long ago built a new Fine Arts building in its place) is nice and all, but there are still some darker catharsis projects to be addressed. Eventually. Like that untitled electroacoustic opera that was to be an autobiographical allegorical account of my awful experiences at BGSU? Yeah, I outlined more of that the other night. And then there's the inevitable blog post "Maelstrom, Part IX: ______," to update the saga of my blood feud with that fucking university. That may very well be an upcoming blog post this month. I don't know. See how it goes.

I wonder what else needs to be done in the War of Perception, as declared in the titular blog post in March 2016?

I also have to get back into 2006 shape. That's not going to be as easy as brooding to iTunes playlists and dining on ashes with a side of bourbon. But at least I started re-reading The New Jedi Order this month. That's gotta count for something, right? Do I get abs now?

Believe it or not, I held back with this blog post. There are lots of other ideas I decided not to mention... for brevity's sake. Yeah. Brevity.

Expect a flood of nostalgic rants this month. Like I'm senile and looking for an audience, and you're the unlucky nurse charged with changing my bedpan. That's the plan.

You whom I knew from BGSU, I cherish you. Things damn well should have been different, and I will never forgive Lillios, Shrude, Beerman, or even Kuehn (who was on sabbatical my second year) for their parts in it. And I wish I'd stayed relevant in your life. But here we are.