but rather

it implies that you fully understand that everything that happens is God's will and that regardless of whether you like what's happening, you will choose to follow and obey and rest in His faithfulness and promises

fade out...

...

...

.

Dear self:

...

don't.

let.

go.

of.

your.

standards.

I'm really sorry for not writing for a long time. I'll write tomorrow, I promise.

Oh, and I got accepted into Kansai Gaidai.

The area code is 217, which is a number in town... and I did apply to some restaurants the day before... but it was yesterday, there's no way they would call me so suddenly... but I can't take that chance!

I sat up on my bed, shook my head and blinked a couple times to make sure I was alert, and picked up the phone. The person that called me turned out to be one of the owners of KO Fusion, Janet Bubin. The name KO Fusion actually is derived from her maiden name, Ko. Needless to say, I was extremely relieved to have picked up the phone, and by the time the call was finished, I was to meet with Janet after my last class.

After a dreadfully boring endocrine lecture, I quickly dropped off my backpack off at my apartment and promptly took the next 5 Green to KO Fusion. Walking in, a host immediately greeted me and asked if I was alone.

Sorry, but I'd die in shame if I were to eat in this kind of restaurant under-dressed to this extent, and to top it off, ALONE.

After asking to see Janet, I waited a minute before Janet came over to greet me and we walked to an unoccupied portion of the restaurant. After the small talk, the real conversation began.

"Have you worked as a server before?"
"No."
"Have you bussed tables before?"
"No."
"Have you had any previous restaurant experience?"
"No."
"What about any physically demanding jobs?"
"No."

It seemed that all hopes for employment were crushed, confirmed by her subsequent explanation that they didn't hire anyone without prior restaurant experience. Desperate, I explained why I applied to be a server and how I thought I would benefit from such an experience. Miraculously Janet decided to take me on a trial basis, and asked me to come later that night to work. I had put a lot of my music experience on my application, and going off of that, Janet explained how she expected musicians to be disciplined, quick at learning, among other beneficial traits. Mom, Mrs. Hadar, Dr. Dennis, I owe you one.

Extremely excited, I returned home, relaxed for a bit, got dressed, and boarded the 50 Green again for my first night at work. I walked in and headed my way towards the door that Janet had instructed me to enter upon arrival. As I neared the door, I realized it was the door to the kitchen and began hesitating, not knowing whether I was really allowed to enter the kitchen or not. Regardless, I entered and as a stranger someone immediately approached me asking if I needed help.

You know those people whose name seems to fit their physical appearance perfectly- like an overly obese Bertha or an excruciatingly beautiful Priscilla? Well, the woman's name was Zoey, and she was one of those. I'll leave you to mentally bring up an image of how you believe a Zoey should look, and don't bother Google imaging that name, because all you'll come up with are pictures of the younger sister of someone who should never sing again. Anyways, she thought I was a customer that wandered down the wrong way when I quickly explained that I was a new busboy. She welcomed me and gave me an extremely quick tour of the place with an equally furtive explanation of what I should do as a busboy. Then I was off to do my job.

I felt absolutely lost. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry, and I just seemed to be in everyone's way. Another server approached me. I forgot his name. I'm terrible with names. Anyways, he realized I was new, and he gave me some more insight as to what I should be doing. By more insight, I really mean another brief 20 second explanation. Regardless I saw a table being vacated and approached it, a wet rag in hand.

Luckily, there wasn't much to clean. I took the plates and the napkins to the back for cleaning, and returned to begin wiping the table. I immediately realized that the table was too long for me to clean without entering the booth on top of the seat.

Won't kneeling on the seat look unsightly to the other patrons? Should I just sit down and scoot myself in and then clean the table? Won't that look extremely awkward? What do I do?
Okay... I finished cleaning the table, but my rag was too wet. How am I supposed to get rid of the excess moisture? There's crumbs on the seats! How do I get rid of the crumbs?! What am I doing?!?!

Looking back at how I handled my first table, it's amazing to see how even the most obvious solutions eluded your thoughts when you're under pressure, such as keeping a dry rag on me. After cleaning my first table, I quickly asked Zoey where Janet's office was. I was thrown in so suddenly into the working environment that I forgot to see Janet. She would tell me what to do!

I entered her office and greeted her.

"Oh, you came Sean! Okay, go out and learn what you have to do!"

Are you serious? That's all? No insight as to how to be the best busboy possible? Okay, okay... Just smile, leave the office, and you better learn quick.

I found myself amidst the hustle and bustle of the restaurant. Long story short, I became much more competent as a busboy by the time the night was over. However, there's still a long ways for me to go. A couple things I learned:

1: It's tiring to be a busboy.
I felt so tired after my shift was over. It was an extremely busy night, and I was moving constantly nonstop.

2: It's a dirty job.
Let's just say I'm glad I have three pairs of dress pants and that I will never wear the pair I wore that night to church ever again.

3. It sucks looking at the food.
The food looks great, and I know for myself that the food tastes great. I want to eat some of that food!

4: I'm not moving up to a server any time soon.
I talked to one of the other busboys (I forgot his name too, sigh,) and it turns out he's been working there since August. I asked him if he was wanting to move up to become a server eventually, and he said he entered KO Fusion with that goal in mind. It's been almost a year for him.

On that last note, I wonder exactly what it takes to be deemed ready to become a server. Of course seniority matters, so I think that other busboy I talked to will become a server before me, but that possibly can't be too large a factor. I came thinking that I'll be the most charming, the hardest working, and that I would smile the most. Bad news: everyone seems to possess some charm in their personalities, they all work hard, and they all smile. This means that I went in with a "bare minimum" mentality. That doesn't make me happy at all.

I began thinking of what it would take to distinguish myself as a superior busboy. Trouble is that I can't come up with too many things other than be more efficient, more charming, more harder-working, more attentive, more careful... more...... everything. Surely that cannot be the correct answer. However, I figure I still have time to figure out the answer for myself, but when I do, Janet will have on her hands the best busboy she's ever had.

Let's fast forward to the middle of the actual concert. A recorded message began to sound within the theatre as each graduating member stood up. The time for the farewell message had come. The tone of the voice in the recording was initially formal and stoic, yet there was a sombre quality to the timbre of the voice. The voice belonged to Dr. Allan Dennis, who stood before us, as he smiled at us as would a proud father in front of his children, and in his hand he had a container full of roses. By now the formal part of the farewell message was over, and progressed to the part where there was a personal message for each graduating member.

Dr. Dennis began passing out the roses to each of the graduating members, after which would give the person a big hug, and at mid-embrace, whisper something into their ear. Tears were shed and there was laughter as each of us got a brief moment to reminisce with Dr. Dennis about the years gone by:

I had auditioned for the concert orchestra, which was the second-ranked orchestra, trumped only by the symphony orchestra. I was confident, armed with a violin and bow that I was set on purchasing at that moment in time. It was an Italian, and was very similar to the German Klotz I have right now. The body was narrow, and at the waist very tall. The varnish was bright and orange, while the tone was very warm. My grandmother had visited the summer before my freshman year of high school, and she went to one of my recitals. Upon listening to my playing and in light of the fact that I was going to audition for one of the best youth orchestras in the state, she decided that it was time I owned my own violin.

We were notified a couple days later that I was accepted. Having been accepted, with encouragement by my violin teacher, Ms. Hadar, and Dr. Dennis himself, I immediately auditioned for a position within the symphony orchestra. By some miraculous turn of events, I was accepted into the symphony orchestra. The excitement and confidence in whatever competence I thought I had in the violin were soon shattered when it came to my first rehearsal.

Walking into the rehearsal hall, I didn't know anybody. To obtain a copy of the score, I quickly found Dr. Dennis, and upon receiving the music, I found the nearest available stand, sat down, and took out my violin. The score in front of me was Beethoven's ninth. As I perused through the music, a troubling feeling began to grip me as I frantically thought to myself in bewilderment, "I'm supposed to be able to play this?"

We tuned. Dr. Dennis lifted his baton, and on cue, the horns held out their first chord as the second violins and cellos gave rhythmic structure to the introduction with their sextuplets. This was the beginning of the first movement, Allegro ma non troppo, un poco maestoso.

One measure of rest... come in on the 16th pickup to the third measure... and play it sotto voce, whatever that that means...

I miscounted and missed my very first notes. I had another chance in two measures... and I blew that chance too. Actually, if memory serves me right, I missed most of the notes for the remainder of the rehearsal. This was partly due to my own incompetence, but also partly due to the shock in the realization that everyone else was above me in skill level by a wide margin. At the end of the rehearsal, on the verge of tears, I went to my mom and promptly told her that I felt as if I didn't deserve to be in this orchestra and that I was going to Dr. Dennis to tell him that he made a mistake when he accepted me.

Perhaps I should have gone straight to Dr. Dennis instead of talking to my mom, because she refused to allow me to do approach Dr. Dennis when I planned to say such foolish things and encouraged me to keep trying. In retrospect, I guess it wouldn't have mattered since if I had spoken to Dr. Dennis first and told him that I didn't belong in symphony, he probably would have told me the same thing mom told me. Regardless, it didn't encourage me that after my first seating audition, I was placed dead last within my section.

A year and a half passed, and by then I was in the middle of my section. Shostakovich's fifth symphony absolutely blew me away. You wouldn't be able to guess how obsessed I became with Shostakovich after playing that symphony. During the summer of 2005, I had the great privilege of touring with the orchestra in Spain and Portugal. My third year in Midwest Young Artists began, and I was so close to the first stand! Mahler 5 beat me to a pulp as I entered my last year, and what else would have been greater to begin my final year than Brahms' fourth symphony?

The time for seating auditions came, and then the day the seating assignments were announced.

Finally!

Starting from the very last seat, within 3 years I had finally reached the top. It was the night of the concert. I was in the backstage of the Harris Theatre with Dr. Dennis, as he reminded me what to do when I walk on stage. He gave the signal for the orchestra to quiet down and with that, the hall became dead silent. The sound of footsteps pierced through the hall. They were my footsteps. A couple footsteps later, there was applause. Amidst the cheering, I continued to walk to the center of the stage, unable to hide my grin, making eye contact with several of my friends as I walked past them. I stood at the center of the stage, faced the audience, and took a bow. That was my shining moment.

From that point on, I kept my first chair for the remainder of the season, up to our season closing concert. By now, Dr. Dennis had finished his rounds with all the graduating members, and the recorded speech was over. The audience clapped for us as we sat down. Dr. Dennis took to the podium, lifted his baton, and on cue, the lower strings laid down a heavily-drawn chord as the clarinet played its melancholic tune. This was the beginning of the first movement, Andante - Allegro con anima.

The opening melody was solemn and made my heart heavy. We came to the Allegro con anima section, and as the strings set the pace almost in the style of a march, the clarinet and the bassoon played their solos. The symphony had swung into full gear. It felt like only a minute had gone by when we finished the first movement. I was dreading the second movement, Andante cantabile, con alcuna licenza for its emotional intensity in its unparalleled beauty. As soon as the horn came in with its introductory solo, it was obvious that something was stirring within not just me, but Dr. Dennis, the rest of the orchestra, and the audience as well.

In no time we were in the thick of the movement, and we reached the explosive climax. The last chord we played in the climax echoed within the hall as we entered 12/8 time. We had to come in on the second beat for pizzicato, and as I looked up to Dr. Dennis, waiting for the cue, I could see tears in his eyes. I could see the tears in some of my friends sitting across from me in the cello and viola sections as well. With an unwavering smile, he gave the cue as we pressed forward.

The mood lightened considerably with the playful third movement, and we entered the finale strong. How appropriate was it, that the last movement began with the opening melody in the first movement, but in a major key, not piano, but mezzo-forte, not pesante, but maestoso? Excitement reached its peak as we entered the presto nearing the end of the piece, entering the finale, Molto meno mosso, ending with the most resounding and resolute E major chord that reverberated within the walls of the Ardis Krainik Theatre in its entire history.

The applause and cheering that followed was thunderous. I was ecstatic, basking in a pool of triumph. We were the Midwest Young Artists. Yet there was another side of me opposite in polarity. It was sadness, in that I would never have this kind of experience again. My friends and I were going to part ways after that night, spreading across the States to pursue college education.

I can still hear the distant echoes of that night. I can listen to our recordings, flip through old programs, or even play along recordings of our old repertoire. However, no matter how much I try to relive the past, it's undeniable that it's over for me.

Regardless, at the end of it all, I can't help but to be extremely thankful for the opportunity to play in such a high-calibre orchestra among other passionate youth. These memories and experiences will be cherished as long as I live. My time may be over, but it's just the beginning for the next wave of youths entering the Midwest Young Artists. I sincerely hope that through their time spent in MYA, that they will realize how truly lucky they are to be there.

Regardless, prior to the cover in Crazy Love, Bublé did do a cover in Dream, and it remains to be my favorite cover. There's something about its simplicity that really brings this cover to heights unreached by others. Now my question is, where are the great songwriters of our time that can churn out a song so great that its popularity spans over seven decades, being covered by dozens upon dozens of artists?

The most interesting aspect of the covers of not just this song, but any jazz pop song in general, is how varied the styles of each cover is. You have Bublé's minimalistic rendition, to Maynard Ferguson's extremely cheesy and unbearable cover, to Louis Armstrong's extremely lively interpretation.

Anyways, here's Bublé's recording from Dream. Enjoy.

- Guess I can't upload the mp3 to my server. Bluehost decided to make some changes in their security policy, requiring me to make a new password. Easy, but unfortunately the password changing link is sent to a now-defunct email address so I guess I'll have to contact support sometime. So instead, here's a Youtube link for the time being (It's the Crazy Love cover, by the way...)

Oh, and one last note, apparently about 40 tons of cosmic dust (the more appropriate term for stardust) fall on Earth everyday. That's pretty crazy.

Dream 1

I was working in the microbiology lab, and the procedure involved arranging various reagents on a microscope slide. The entire lab spanned a large amount of lab periods, along the range of 6-7, and we were right dab in the middle of the lab. Regardless, I was going about following the procedure when I made a mistake regarding some fruit extracts. My fellow classmates were telling me how I pretty much ruined the whole lab for myself and worried, I brought my TA over.

She came over and took a look at my microscope slide and as I was explaining what happened, I accidentally nudged the microscope slide, resulting in several of the reagents mixing. Bubbles began forming, and my TA told me to control the reaction. However, I kept watching until the bubbles began spreading across the slide, picking up various other reagents along the way, and the reaction became exponentially uncontrollable.

The bubbles fizzed over the slide, spilling onto my lab bench, and as it spread itself over the bench, the mixed concoction of reagents caught aflame by the Bunsen burner. The flame was so violent that an air current formed through convection, picking up a sheet of reactive metal and throwing it into the flames. As soon as this happened, a grim face came over my TA as she told the entire class to evacuate the building.

Shortly after yelling for us to evacuate, the other methane spigots began jetting out flames, and various items around us underwent spontaneous combustion. Everyone started running and screaming, as the temperature in that room began soaring. We were running down a hallway when I called one of my friends. He picked up but I didn't say a word, and he got worried because I wasn't saying anything. I just kept running. The university must have had some PA system outdoors, because sirens and announcements stating the emergency at hand were heard outside.

My friend kept frantically asking me if I was inside that building and told me that I have to get out before the building explodes. This whole time as I ran, everything was so vivid. From the roar of the flames, to the screams of the people, everything seemed so real. As I ran down the hall, the flames were catching up and I could feel the heat intensifying behind me. The flames did catch up, for eventually the entire hall around me was consumed by flames. Things were melting, people were burning, and I was convinced I was not going to live.

I kept my ears plugged in anticipation of the imminent explosion, then a loud piercing noise invaded my ear canals. It wasn't an explosion. Rather, it was my cell phone. I found myself within the comforts of my bed, heart pounding furiously. My phone kept ringing as I laid in my bed, breathing heavily, trying to calm down. Wiping the sweat off my brow, I looked over to see who was calling me. I took an extra second to clear my throat and regain composure, then answered Andrew Mariano's call.

Dream 2

I was in a large Victorian building, and there were a lot of people. A mission had been assigned to me, but details regarding this were forgotten. There was a small team that I was a part of, and I split off from the main group to do something personal. I was walking down a hallway when a Wikipedia page appeared in my mind regarding some robot that was famous for losing control and being destructive. Don't ask. My vision returned to first person, and I encountered the very same aforementioned robot.

In an anticlimactic moment, I simply passed it giving it no second thought, entering a new room. This room was filled with various other robots, making a loud ruckus, and though I wished to sit down and rest, I figured that this room was not appropriate. Pressing onwards, I arrived to my destination, which was a large hall having an uncanny resemblance to Wesley's sanctuary. Putting down my backpack, I pulled out a laptop and several documents including passports. The passports included those of me, my two brothers, and a friend that will remain unnamed.

Using the laptop, I began photo-scanning the passports and documents, and the laptop somehow spit out exact replicas. Having finished this, I left the sanctuary and went outdoors. The building was surrounded in water, and I left my backpack on the ground when I jumped into the water and began swimming. Out of nowhere, my brother Seth appeared, and we were swimming together. We swam until we were near some kind of port.

The water was extremely clear, and the color that dominated was gray. From the skies, to the buildings, to the sea-bottom, everything was gray. I peered underwater to see that there were a lot of creatures below. I swam underwater as I examined all the animals, and one of them was this gigantic snake, and I took a mental note that the snake could pose a threat. In some kind of relapse, I found myself reexamining all the animals, and making the same exact mental note of the snake.

By then, Seth began expressing the desire to return home, when I told him to wait. As if searching for something, I keep swimming. My brother was somehow walking on the sea-bottom, and there was a car being driven underwater. I started praying that my brother wouldn't get hit, though the car was traveling at a low velocity and it was clear that Seth would not be hit. Seth crossed in front of the car as the car stopped, and I swam over to him.

I swam down to the sea-bottom, grabbed his hand and whilst bringing him up to the surface, I apologized and told him that we were leaving for home.

Yes, in case you were wondering, my dreams are usually this weird. That's much better than the kinds of dreams I had when I was much more little. They were terrifying and recurring to the point where I have a dozen nightmares from my childhood engraved permanently in my brain. Each night when we prayed, I made my mother pray that I wouldn't have nightmares.

To be honest, I kind of enjoy dreaming. Within their absurd or even frightening circumstances, there's some kind of liberating feeling associated with the freedom one has in their dreams. The senses, from hearing to touch, are heightened and have a very lucid-like quality. I haven't had such a terrifying dream like the first one in a long time, and usually my dreams are more like the second one. There's always some kind of mystery revolving around those dreams. What exactly am I doing? My dream-self seems to be fully aware of the situation and has a set goal, yet as I live through this dream, there's my real-self that is wondering what on Earth is going on.

It provides to me an escape, and sometimes when I wake up, I wish that I hadn't, because the dream had not yet resolved itself. Sometimes I get the impression that some dreams are continuations of dreams from weeks to months past. Within the dreams I'm convinced that the current dream is a continuation of a previous dream, but when I wake up, I can never be sure whether it really was a continuation of a previous dream, or if it was part of my altered perception of reality in my dream world that made me think that way.

Anyways, I don't know why I wrote this. I just wanted to write, I guess. Spring break's coming up tomorrow. I don't know what I'm doing, but I've been offered places to stay by some friends back in the suburbs. I might have to take their offer on that... I do miss Schaumburg dearly.

Hey, since you actually read this, do you remember our promise regarding Door County? Hahaha... oh the days of yore!