Up a creek without a paddle

So. Went crickin' with Ellen, Chandra and Whitney this afternoon. The Kokosing "River" (*coughstreamcough*) is about a ten-minute walk from campus down the hill the school is on. So we did that and got in the river at the first point we could, which is the bridge for cars that goes to the Environmental Center. We walked downstream in water of varying depths, from our ankles to our hips, until we were underneath the Gap Trail (walking trail) bridge made out of an old train trestle, which is, what, about half or three quarters of a mile? It took about an hour to wade down there, anyway. (Quick Kenyon fact: one of the more fleshed-out ghost stories at this school comes from the fact that a fratboy by the name of Stuart Pierson was out on that trestle when it was still used for trains on a night in 1905. He was doing something for a fraternity initiation and was killed by a passing train. Now his ghost is said to look out fourth-floor windows of Old Kenyon, the oldest dorm on campus, and generally haunt the building.)

Once we got to the bridge, we decided to get on the trail and walk back that way. Only there was no easy access there. So we walked up a dry streambed until we hit a likely-looking spot to climb up to the trail. Only it wasn't, really. It was practically vertical, and the hillside was pretty much made of potting soil. To say I got dirty would be understating things just a bit. Good thing I was just in shorts and a bathing suit.

And now I'd kind of like to take a nap, but I have choir in forty-five minutes...

Dubula!

There is no way in hell that I will be able to keep a straight face through all our concert in December. There's simply no way. Between songs about food (The Bill of Fare), miserly old men (Aaron Stark), and tobacco being a wasting weed (Tobacco is a Wasting Weed); bird whistles/Doc clapping his hands/us fluttering our music to look like birds (The Little Birds); and the dance moves/hand motions in the African song, I'm gonna bust out laughing at some point during this concert. Really. I am.

So yeah. We learned some of our hand motions for the Dubula, Mfanandini song. They involve making gun signs with our index fingers and pointing them first to our right foot, then our left, then pointing our thumbs back over our shoulders a la the typical redneck-holding-up-the-overalls gesture. We also started the whistling parts of the bird song--not so good for me since I physically cannot whistle to save my soul. I guess I'll just fake it during that part. ;) I think it'll all look pretty cute and entertaining, but damned if I won't be laughing right along with the audience.

And the QL for 9/17/03:
- "By the time you get there I'm on the next note and feeling neglected."
- Altos, I trust you--no, I don't." (Heh. *waves soprano pride flag*)
- There was this long diatribe about how each section had screwed up in some way that was absolutely hilarious, but it was too long to transcribe. Just trust me. Doc is funny.