Titi Monkeys

I have been blessed/cursed with a crazy burst of energy for the past few hours.  Unfortunately at this hour it's called insomnia.  After five glorious years, my days at UCLA are coming to an end, and I am presently freaking out about my immediate future.  As usual, I am completely unarmed for the battles to come.  The most blatant evidence of this is probably my upcoming senior recital, which currently boasts an empty program.  I have no repertoire prepared and very few ideas to boot.  All other future plans are looking equally bleak.  In my (alarmingly) carefree and optimistic mind, I interpret these blank slates as room for unlimited possibilities.  But reality has crept into my brain for the moment and will not let me sleep.  I even tried counting sheep, but I stopped after three because apparently they had been grazing on grass laced with speed or something and were flying through my brain really fast.  Like super freaking speedily.  From left to right.  Do your sheep jump from left to right, too?  Anyway, to take my mind off of the things I should not be taking my mind of off, I am here, after what seems to be an unprecedentedly long blogging hiatus.  And what better to write about than an amazing primate species called the Titi Monkeys!

Here is a Titi Monkey couple.  Notice their tails are intertwined in a stupendously cute fashion!  Titi Monkeys are what we would call monogamous - they do a much better job than we do however; I will address that shortly.  They live in small groups - the parents, their infants and juveniles, and any of their grown children whom have yet to pair up with another.  The fascinating thing about them is that their pair bonds last for life.  Once they find their special someone, they stay together til death - and perhaps beyond.  When a Titi Monkey is left widowed, he or she would move in with one of his or her kids' families and never pair with anyone again.  Amazing.

Even "cuter" is that fact that these pairs are always a tail's length from one another (well, sometimes further, but they're always close - like in the same tree).  Most primates spend a whole lot of time grooming one another.  This holds a social purpose rather than a hygenic one, much like how our talking is to bond rather than to gather the information we need in order to get through the day.  Most other primates have their backs to their respective groomers, but these guys are different.  Titi Monkey couples face each other, intertwine their tails, and gaze into each other's eyes while grooming each other for an hour, continuously, every day.  So it's obvious that it's a social activity rather than a hygenic one, because you would probably want to look at what you're grooming rather than stare into your partner's eyes if your only purpose is to keep his or her body clean.

Why is it that we spend so much time seeking the perfect soul mate and still break up, while these guys can settle with the equivalent of their high school sweethearts (whom they met speed-dating, pretty much!), and remain content with their decision throughout their entire lives?  Maybe they don't have issues... or maybe they're just awesome.

© eh, I don't know if a casual weblog requires citations, but many thanks to Professor Grannis at UCLA for brightening my life with this knowledge

Because tendonitis is in style

 
 MY JUNIOR FLUTE RECITAL!

 Friday, March 2, 2007 12pm 

 Jan Popper Theater
 Schoenberg Hall, UCLA

 P R O G R A M

 Entracte for Flute and Guitar
       Jacques Ibert
 Meditation de Thais
       Jules Massenet
 March of the Bluebirds for Piccolo and Piano
       Leos Janacek

 i n t e r m i s s i o n

 Sonata in D Major (I, II, III, IV)
        Sergei Prokofiev

 I'm excited.  And a little bit horrified.

Currently Listening Sympathique By Pink Martini see related

There goes my dignity... again.

Monday.  Hoping to catch an earlier bus in the morning, I choose to speed down the staircase in my apartment building.  I get caught on a step and tumble down nearly a full flight of stairs.  And these stairs are the evil kind, with the rocks embedded in the cement.  Anyhow, I miraculously leave the scene relatively unscathed - my right foot is grotesquely gashed, terribly bruised and whatnot, but the rest of my body is happy enough to drag me to class an hour late (ironically, after my futile attempt to shave five seconds off my initial descent).

Strike one.

Tuesday.  Alas, my worst day of the week.  Nine straight hours of class (8am to 5pm, no breaks!), a meeting and Real Life (but fellowship at night does make the day bearable!).  I am on my way out of keyboarding class and I mindlessly reach for my textbooks.  Slash.  A jolt of pain.  Red where there shouldn't be.  Voila, I have given myself a deep, deep papercut on one of my most crucial fluting fingers!  I quickly discover that this is the kind of cut that can "talk" and barf out blood on command.  Sick...

Strike two.

Wednesday.  As I have an important audition coming up, I am, in all seriousness, practicing about tenfold my usual time.  During Wind Ensemble rehearsal, I am continually bothered by a throbbing pain at the base of my left pointer finger.  While I count rests, I investigate the problem.  I realize that in order to compensate for my injured middle finger, I'd been putting far too much pressure elsewhere during practice and a big, ugly blister had formed on yet another crucial fluting spot on my left hand!

Strike three.

Thursday.  Eight hours of straight class today; better than Tuesday is all I can say.  Due to practice robbing my usual sleeping time, I inevitably drift off during Sociology lecture.  Apart from the accompanying embarrassment, all is well.  Skipping lunch and dinner and ignoring the fact that I have a midterm the following morning, I head to the practice room and begin warming up.  I forget that my lips have chapped considerably during my nap and my bottom lip splits in two.

Strike... four?

I am so out.

Currently Playing American Idol Season 4 - The Showstoppers By Various Artists see related

I was driving our 1991 Previa today with the mother in the passenger's seat, when some turd of a driver very rudely cut me off.  I firmly gave him the finger and he looked flabbergasted that one of two little Asian ladies in a minivan was giving him such gesture.  After the initial look of horror, he gave me the universal "whatever" shrug and sped away (in fear I am sure).  This was my first time having this uh... method of communication acknowledged by a fellow driver and needless to say, I was, and still am, very amused.