(Blog post by Meg. To read the whole post please visit HER BLOG)
I’m going to come clean at the risk of sounding like a politician with all of my “flip-flopping”. I decided to take one class at the University. I know I said in a previous blog that I wasn’t going back, but I lied. I am. A tug-of-war took place inside my head before I finally took the plunge. With all of the time that I don’t want to take away from practicing the guitar and songwriting and all of the projects and ideas I would like to begin with Chandler, I didn’t think I had time to add yet another activity.
With a skeptical mindset and a notebook and folder tucked underneath my armpit, I made my way across a very foreign college campus. After being a touring musician for so many years, attempting to return back to school has been a very interesting learning experience to say the least. I told myself on that first day, if the professor gave me any crap for missing the first week (I exhibited at the New York Gift Fair with Chandler that week) ,or for not having read all of the required reading material, or for not having all of my homework I would skip out of the University lifestyle without a second thought.
I took a seat near the front, struggled to maneuver the stow-away-desk from the side of my seat to a horizontal position, while I waited for the professor to either chastise me or ignore me all together. Neither event took place. He simply looked up with a pleasant smile as he poured a cup of steaming hot tea for himself behind the podium. “I haven’t seen you in class before. Are you a new student?” His voice purred with soft undertones like a cat finding a surprisingly warm spot on the couch. “Yes.” I answered, my eyes nervously traveling back and forth across the classroom. “Please don’t pause too much on my behalf professor,” I thought to myself. I’d much prefer to melt into the sea of random students, do the homework, and skedaddle. But he proceeded to ask THE question: “So, are you related to Peter Frampton?” The side of his lips curled into a tiny sideways moon. “I wish!” Hey, this guy wasn’t half bad!
For some reason (I hate to admit this now.) I thought that all of my traveling experience I’ve had all these years as a musician would make me more intelligent and “worldly” than any of my fellow students and even my professor! I believed that I didn’t need them. I didn’t need anybody! Well, that first class really knocked me back into reality and humbled me right down to the bone. Every student, instead of slinking back into their seat after the professor asked a question, didn’t bother to raise a hand, and instead, simply spoke out their very well-thought-out opinions and concerns in confident voices. We were having GREAT thought-stimulating discussions. I was… dare-I-say-it learning.
Another blog post of the next chapter of my “Meg and Dia” Story Series. For the first few chapters read these posts: “Here”, “Here”, and “Here”. These posts about how my first band started out, the process of “getting signed” by a major label, all the ups and downs. By Meg
I’m writing this post lying on the floor on my stomach in an empty room aside from a few bloated cardboard boxes and an ikea floor lamp. Nick is prancing through our empty apartment spraying spritzes of one of his homemade “natural”, “essential” oil mixes. The window is open. I’m staring at startling greenery (for Austin at this time of year. Thank you spring rain!) and smelling hints of lavender and evergreen. Nick opens the door, peeks his head through, and asks me, “What are you doing in this empty room on the floor?” I give him the same glance I give to everyone when they interrupt me when I’m either writing a song or a blog post. My eyebrows come together and do a little dance and my lower lip puckers outward. “I’m writing a blog!” I wine in an effort exaggerate the fact to that I’d like some time alone. “Well, why you gotta do it in here?” “Because there is music out there, and it’s calm in here.” ”Well, it was”, I think to myself. He gives me one of his “looks” and then turns and walks away. I couldn’t help thinking about what I knew he was thinking as he continued with the finishing touches on our apartment: “God, why am I dating a “creative”, artist, hippie chick with extremely irritating dietary requirements? I should have listened to my mother and stuck with Anne back in high school. Yeah, she had a boring hair cut, but all of her meals were loaded with butter and sugar, and she would never EVER pay more attention to a blog than ME…”
Yes, we are in the midst of packing and moving. I can’t wait for the day when I can stop this “packing and moving” bit. It’s tiring and dull.
To continue reading please visit…http://chandlertherobot.blogspot.com/