I'm not called for rehearsal until 7:30, so I actually get to have dinner at a reasonable hour tonight. So far today, I have been to the doctor, worked at the bookstore, worked with a dialect coach, met with my RA advisor for our one-on-one, taken my journalism course, and met with Dr. Mary regarding tomorrow's presentation on Structuralism. It's been a very productive day.

I checked my mail today, and when I got a big, honking package, I signed off on it and brought it home, believing it to be the swing shoes I ordered. A splurge, I know, but worth it considering I've been really getting into learning the dancing, and I have no shoes that are skirt appropriate, closed-toed, and not stilletos or go-go boots. So, it was a reasonably shoe-sized box. As I fumbled through the door, I noticed that the return address was routed from Thailand. Odd. I opened the box with finesse (and my keys), to find a bundle wrapped in red ribbon and floral handmade paper. Not shoes at all.

It was this::



A gong.
A handcrafted Thai gong.
The note read: Chris, be careful what you wish for. :)

And so I thought, when on earth did I wish for a gong? Then I laughed. Remember my Aunt Linda's Stupid Theocracy Forward post? In which someone commented: "Amen sister! Raise your banner high, and march proudly forth with wisdom and compassion."

My response, typically flippant: ...I shall endeavor. As long as I get catchy theme music. With a neat trumpet fanfare. And maybe a gong.


I wonder if I should check my mailbox for a brass band tomorrow. I don't know where I'll lodge them.

Seriously, it is a beautiful thing, metal with gold handpainting. It is a deep brass sound, but brief. This I know because as I came in from class, Racheal welcomed me with a ceremonial gonging. :) So thank you, great and fearful wickercabra, may you spare me on the Day of Reckoning.



Other highlights of the day:
-- Dr. Mary gave me a very nice compliment in our meeting about my final Faulkner presentation. I was very very happy about that.
-- I used two selections from Elizabeth Hand's Waking The Moon in literary journalism over the last two class periods as examples of writing I admire. Mr. Dirda then mentioned that he and "Liz" are old friends and she'll be delighted to hear that he's got a fan in the class. To which I *blinked*.
-- On a slightly negative note, my labyrinthitis has been acting up, quite painfully lately. More painfully, infact, than in recent memory. I have to go back to the doc tomorrow to get my head looked at. There's something unappealling about feeling like you're on a sickly carnival ride at a moment's notice.

Musical direction rehearsal tonight. Woo and a hoo. No rehearsal tomorrow-- one of the perks of dying dramatically precisely at the play's midpoint. Instead of blocking, I will be out having a margarita with evergleam83, my lovely roomie who turns 22 (old lady!) tomorrow.