Caffe la Flaute

Yesterday I did something I don't do often, which is what inspired me to finally update my blog after five months. I consumed 3/5 decaf, 1/5 coffee, and 1/5 cream. When playing the flute, my tripple tonguing was WICKED awesome, but a couple hours later, when I was forced out of a practice room for the third time in an hour (due to quick-filling up room reservations), I started to cry.

To avoid public humiliation, I went for a power walk, in my three-inch heel boots, listening to techno music, all around parts of downtown Boston. After an hour, I started to calm down. I can't wear the boots again for at least week because of the blisters, and I was up until 3 a.m.

But you know what? Anxiety is the medicine for Accomplishment, and as long as I am a music-making MACHINE (lifting arm and flexing muscle), I say screw the downsides, as long as I can get shit DONE.

These two years will probably stand out as among the most intense of my life. Though it is not without flaws, I really feel that I could not be in a better place to be doing what I'm doing. I am consumed, which like anything, has its goods and bads, but in the end, I am reaching the best of my abilities as an artist. If you support art, you'll support me, no matter where I end up.

Otherwise, here are some highlights since winter:

Dad and I (oddly enough, I wasn't drinking coffee here):

The pup:Uncle Bob's winter wardrobe:

Liz and cousin Jack celebrating Christmas in New Jersey (video):

Passover in Lexington, MA:

Friends (minus my chin):

New York City after a blizzard (when I got stranded due to flight cancellations):

Jordan Hall (my version of church, synagogue, and every religious or spiritual haven), and yours truly with the magic flute:

Fallin' Up

So, now that I am blossoming in the midst of grad school, I’m working more hours than if I had a full time job.

Never in my life have I been a morning person...until now. Why, you ask? Well, not coffee, not yoga, not some magical herb, but only the Jordan Hall effect, of course. Its not a bad place to wake up for after the alarm goes off at 6 and I get to school to practice for 2 hours before my morning ensemble rehearsal, followed by 6-8 hours of various activities such as class, lessons, practicing, and generally lots of music.

(Music is kind of popular at my school.)

But it is pretty cool adjusting with the schedule to participate in performances with people like Wayne Shorter:

When I am not in school, I cherish few instances of free time to do things like run around Boston's famously scenic Jamaica Pond, which is a convenient two blocks from my house,

stay warm with things like the snuggie (a gift from my dad):

cook with a variety of new recipes (cookbook a gift from friends Debbie and Pat), which feeds both myself and my all-male selection of great roommates:

(left: maple salmon with asian slaw. right: hoison tenderloin tip end asparatus stir fry)

throw apple parties,



























and celebrate Halloween with old friends and new, and with important original creativity. Can you guess who I am?

(My "babies")

Will Play for Food

Every musician is familiar with this phrase. At this new stage in my life, not only am I playing for food, but I am also worth a lot of money in tuition for food, such as:

melons and muffins

pita chips, bagels with cream cheese AND humus

and several different kinds of sandwiches,

and a few other selections that I stopped taking cell phone pictures of because I was starting to look creepy.

Too bad this is the one rare time in my life I am way too nervous to eat.

I walk into the lounge of my New England Conservatory, holding a little paper plate and a cup of seltzer water. Yes that's right, SELTZER water.

I look around the room full of new students who actually get my little quarky artist existence, and then I see the exit door. That's the door that during one night in those times ages ago (okay, like six months ago) when I was here daily in an attempt to become a future student, I opened it and set off the fire alarm during intermission of a concert. Now, the door is posted copiously with signs “Fire exit only, alarm WILL sound.”

And I smile secretly, because I feel that I have begun to make a difference.

Then later I am sitting in Jordan Hall

with other students who are chatting happily, but I am not chatting because I'm too busy trying to keep my jaw shut, and thus save the plush cushioned seats from my drool.

“You are all very talented,” the New England Conservatory president tells us. “You will be asked to prove yourselves many times, but you don’t have to prove that you are very talented because you’ve already proven that.”

Before exiting Jordan Hall, I kneel to the ground to open my backpack, feeling around frantically for the metronome that has turned itself on, but cannot find it before spilling out half the contents onto the floor, including my new student ID in which I look sort of like I got punched in my left eye.













Finally, after getting a hold of my belongings (not to mention myself), I pass by the security guard who has seen me progress from aspiring student to actual student, and give him what will become a ritual daily high five.

I go the library to listen to a recording of a piece I will play for my placement audition. When the guy (who is apparently a virtuoso classical guitarist) helps me look up the piece on the computer, I see 99 matches.

"You have 99 recordings of this one piece?"

"No, those are just the first 99."

"Duh."

Of the things I am discovering about Boston as a student shed light on it very differently than when I was just a free spirit trying to make my way in the world. Mostly just a feeling of belonging now, not just wishing I belonged.

As the days go by and I gradually begin to eat more, I feel more at peace with how flabergastingly insanely freaking awesome it is that this place is, well, MINE.

Just like that, the train is moving again, but with that comes the realization that even during the most doubtful of moments leading up to now, it never actually stopped.

Pork, Pretty Places, Principles

As I yanked the handle of my suitcase to flip it over, my backpack with my computer plummeted onto the cobble stones. I looked around Prague in the early morning drizzle and realized that I had done it all wrong.

But despite and maybe even because of the self-hatred, I picked up the backpack and saw that nothing was damaged, flipped back my greasy hair, and marched on. Until my suitcase flipped again. So I decided to march on at least until the next major airport. And only if the travel insurance would cover it.

For the next two weeks I made discoveries about hand washing laundry, eating copious amounts of pork, rusty medieval keys vs. modern keys when it comes to broken doors, how to feel like you’re alone in a crowd full of sweaty tourists, and pushing aside exhaustion in moments of crucial importance - ones I had waited for my entire life. When I met up with the Intrepid tour, seeing as how it was a small relaxed group that aims to blend in with culture rather than drive by it, all the while being environmentally conscious, I immediately knew it would be a good experience. And I was right.

So I saw the stately elegance of Vienna, walked on the streets of composers who have shaped the world (and me),















(on the left, Mozart drinking Starbucks outside the opera house)


cities like the beautiful and hidden Cesky Krumlov,



Krakow,




and Budapest.



The concentration camps of Auschwitz and Birkenau were what I expected. Surreal, and not just for the horror that I’ve learned about every year in Jewish school, but of the other paradoxes I had not fully realized before. Hatred with calculation of not just murder, but suffering of the most extreme kind. The absolute worst of human nature. Hell on Earth.












(on the right, the crematorium that was blown up by the Nazis right before the liberation)






But on a better note, speaking of earth, perhaps the biggest accomplishment for myself as a result of this trip is…drum roll…NATURE. I was in two different mountain town places and went on two half-day hikes, three four hour bike rides and even ENJOYED it. I went from this:



To this

I actually did enjoy the several hikes, bike rides, and more than ten minutes at a time spent in the woods, and even left wanting MORE. This trip must have some kind of magical power over me. When I went back to the city from nature, it was even kind of sad.

At one point in a city, I bought a hot dog from a man from India, and instead of just a hot dog I got his entire life story. Realizing that he is a) my age, and b) makes hot dogs all day as a means of survival and to fund his family back in India, I looked down at the glistening piece of mystery meat and felt once again a strong sense of failure.

Here I saw the cycle that in an effort to see the world, which in turn makes me understand my place in it, which in turn helps me to contribute to it, I feel a little like a selfish horrible person taking advantage of a lesser privileged human being as I walk onto my next tourist destination, somehow using my freedom as an American to take advantage of those who suffer because of people like me. I know more than ever now how much I want to give back somehow.

But I also learned on this trip about cutting myself a little slack, giving up control, and embracing my vulnerability. After all, I didn’t know what to expect. I planned as well as I could, threw myself in head first, knowing that if all goes as planned and I forge a career in the coming years, I might never have an opportunity like this again.

I was elated to step off the plane and be home, though less elated to realize that reality is going to hit hard, seeing more than ever how much the world is in need of repair. Now, my next task is to use the experiences of this trip and this year to put into art and forge the path for my future. On my list of things to do before I die, I take my pink highlighter, made in India, and put a nice check mark next to Europe.

Finding me-self in the Praha

I am sleeping when the door to my dorm room opens.
“Up!” says the maid.
“Excuse me?”
She lifts her arms.
“UP!”
“Oh. Okay then.”
I get up and she changes my sheets. I lean into the closet to find my outfit for the day and I feel a hand tap my rear. I look up to see her laughing as she exits. After getting over the bewilderment from being awoken from a dream and being fondled by a Czech maid, I go to school. SCHOOL. What a foreign concept! I take the train, which people ride basically for free on the honors system, and go by the sites I have walked and gotten lost in several times already.

Castles, cathedrals, general gorgeous scenery:



Weird art: Franz Kafka:

And architecture:
Cubism:



Cobble stone streets (my poor high heels have not left the suitcase)Fashion:

Chandeliers:

I had a thought of buying one if I could find a tiny and more importantly cheap one, meaning less than $50, to like, put next to my plant or use for parties or something … but unfortunately, I couldn’t score any Swarovski crystals for a good price. But this is good because I don’t have the additional self-imposed challenge of figuring out how to get it home.

Other than that, besides meeting some fantastic people and getting some edumacation in my other secret identity of writing, here are other things I accomplished in Prague:

Aside from the few goulash indulgences, there were days when I had this diet:
Breakfast: a donut. Lunch: A hot dog Dinner: pepperoni pizza. Snacks: ice cream and a bag of mnm’s.
The next day, when I had a piece of lettuce on my sandwich I got concerned I was getting off track with too many vitamins. However, with all the MacDonalds and KFC locations, I have not once succumbed to homesickness for America in that way. Woohoo!

And finally, I have confirmed the discovery my “inner travel child.” This comes with the knowledge of a) Though it is hard at the time, I like being alone, because for some reason this is when I have the most fun, b) I am now a big fan of yoga, which was offered for free twice a week and whether because of the location or the humidity or the teacher, made me hooked on it and even getting a little more fond of nature (of which there are several spots in Prague...not just mowed grass, but even some trees) and c) Perhaps this is bad, but often I can only fully appreciate things later by looking at the pictures. I have a knack for creating juxtapositions in pictures, particularly with advertisements I find funny.

I enjoy this a lot actually. Maybe too much. But in Prague, there are no boundaries.