20 XII 2001 - 00:08 - vita14

Went to take another (!) test - actually several. The results (complete with neat little graphics from the sites):

If I were a Dead Russian Composer, I would be Dmitri Shostakovich! I am a shy, nervous, unassuming, fidgety, and stuttery little person who began composing the same year I started music lessons of any sort. I wrote the first of my fifteen symphonies at age 18, and my second opera, "Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District," when I was only 26. Unfortunately, Stalin hated the opera, and put me on the Enemy Of The People List for life. I nevertheless kept composing the works I wanted to write in private; some of my vocal cycles and 15 string quartets mock the Soviet System in notes. And I somehow was NOT killed in the process! And Harry Potter(c) stole my glasses and broke them! Who would you be? Dead Russian Composer Personality Test

although oddly enough, multiple testings revealed that I was about as much Shostakovich as I was

If I were a Dead Russian Composer, I would be Pyotr Chaikovsky. I AM the Real Chaikovsky! Considered by most Westerners to be the greatest Russian composer of all, most late 19th Century Russians think I'm actually too Westernized in my musical tendencies. Despite this criticism, as well as the flak I had to take for my preference of Y-chromosomes, my ballets "The Nutcracker" and "Swan Lake" are upheld as among the greatest and most popular pieces of all time. Who would you be? Dead Russian Composer Personality Test

and so I have bored the people around me once again.

Finals are OVER, ha HA, they were over on Tuesday, I don't have to worry about school until January. This should be a nice break, except I'm not sure that it will be - it seems to be very busy already; my cousin's daughter is being christened and I think they want us to go (even though we're sort of the godless branch of the family), and I have to get together with a pianist to run through the Debussy sonata at least once, and and and there's so much to do, and I have to get through like seven books of the Aeneid in English before Latin starts up again in January. I don't particularly want to think about this right now.

Actually, I'm not too inclined to think all that much right now. I'm busy dwelling on how I always seem to fall in my sisters' shadow, and about how annoying it is when people see a hotline to my sisters instead of anything I've done, and about just how egocentric it is to want that maybe they could ask after me for once. So I think I'll go and stew in my bad mood for a little bit and come back all restored-like, except I probably won't, and maybe think about how ill-suited I am for writing ghazals and think about maybe doing my music theory homework for Saturday.

I'm out, then.