Internal Oregons

Ever wonder if certain parts of your life were real or just a dream? Well, after two years in Boston, I tried curing this "nostalgia" by learning how to text. When that didn't help I tried watching reality TV in an attempt to help me understand what "reality" really means. That didn't help either (thanks a lot for NOTHING, "America Broadcasting Company" and "Women's Entertainment" channels).

So I found myself back in Oregon. When exiting the plane, I stopped to inhale extremely deeply, coughed because most of the air was jet fuel, and got asked to please move by the line of people behind me. All the restrooms in the airport were closed except for one, which didn’t have ANY paper towels. Towels weren’t even an option. On the way out of the airport I spotted a man with dirty dread locks wrapped in a bun on top of his head, dragging a rainbow suitcase. And thus I welcomed myself back.

Kim, Lia and I were like The Three Musketeers picking up where we left off after only five minutes of separation, rather than what it really was - the better part of two years.

In Eugene, we stood in front of our former dorm, remembering the times we had while growing up: our first encounters with the “drunk” type of people, the guy who tested his pellet gun on us from the third story window (the first time I helped get someone evicted), the pumpkin left in the stairwell for months until it was finally removed by people wearing masks…and it all pulls at the sinews of my heart like a multi-ton colonial cobble stone.

The yard sale we later encountered had things like used bottles of hair dye and dolls without eyes to name a few - your basic essentials. I’ve missed being exhilarated by things like this. It made me actually consider buying some hair dye and trying it on one of the dolls. The truth is that those Saturday nights spent at Walmart were better than any night at a big city night club.

The yard sale.

Seeing more old friends over Mexican food made me feel so happy I just about felt nauseous (that plus the margaritas).

The way the University of Oregon campus now looks, the things about it that were in the back of my mind but I haven’t thought about, and fully realizing how much I had been through since I was last there, was quite intense.

Then, put a stop on all the emotion, it was time for a road trip. We stop in the small town of Astoria, Oregon (the temporary settlement of explorers Lewis and Clark).

(Lewis and Clark's original cabin)

There were also shops with things like humongous and dirty stuffed panda bears turned on their side in the display window,

or the B&B with possibly the most floral room that ever existed.

But it was the NATURE that was the most striking.

After visiting the beach, we sprinted up 160 steps to catch the last few minutes of this sunset. It was worth the ruptured lungs.

Among the top 5 sunsets I've ever seen:

A little weary from the sprint, with a red glow from the sunset:

After that, we found ourselves more north in the rural forests of Washington to see where Lia just earned her first job running a high school music program. To see her accomplish this after years of hard work and in these economic times is inspiring. I am very proud of her, as I am of Kim, who is on her way to doing the same thing!

Then it was further north, back to civilization in Seattle.

The GPS telling us to drive through the water:

Two years ago when I left Oregon, I didn’t allow myself to feel the emotion as much as it was there, for the purpose of keeping my eyes on the very unknown road ahead. But after the time away, I was hoping this visit would calm down my nostalgia. TOO BAD.
Really, this trip has only made my emotional state worse, but only for more love for the place and for the people in it. Along with the sadness that comes with change is happiness in knowing that this is where I spent some of the best times of my life.

After that I connected with the old Judaism at a Bar Mitzvah in the Bay Area to see more people I hardly ever get to. It isn't how often you see people that matters, but the love you share that outlasts any amount of time or distance.

Here is some brief video footage of my recent performance in at the Los Angeles Colburn School of Performing Arts as part of the masterclass for teacher Jim Walker (http://www.beyondthemasterclass.com/).

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.