America Runs on Puppies

A few weeks ago, I was weighing these options.

1. Moving to Siberia 

2. Moving to Bali

3. A combination (no snow)

Every place has its own unique character. One part of Boston's character is explained well in this popular internet meme.

Sign of the times, eh?

Similar to Boston, here's how much I too have not changed.

1. I don't like Dunkin Donuts
2. Public transit scares me
3. I don't understand baked beans
4. Real seasons scare me
5. I seriously don't like Dunkin Donuts
6. I have not completely rejected the idea of spray tans



It has been basically, exactly, truly, approximately, to the day (give or take a few weeks), SIX YEARS since I migrated from the great west over here.  

Remember? 

That can only mean one thing. Or several.


So, in that amount of time, I've figured out the following.

1. When making choices of whether to stay or go, perhaps we all either go down or Ascend.  
2. You can either complain or try to be positive, for a change. 
3. You can change paths or figure out a way of exploring great parts of yourself within the same path.

4. Having patience, persistence and support can result in nice jewelry (and happiness).

The other day, in a moment of delirium, clouded a bit by the many life changes that happened all at the same time, I realized something. 

Things are actually pretty good. 

"I am a puppy from Siberia, just with a smaller frame."

What's the lesson here?

Life is what you make it, no matter where you live it. 

In the end, I just want to be able to say one thing. Or several.  
(Leave your thoughts on this in the comment section.)

And really, it's because of times like this that this was invented.

Oh Dunkin Donuts, how America doth runneth on thee. 

Attitude Adjustment Hour

The Bachelor is one of the degrading, horrific, and pathetic parts of American pop culture. That is why I not only watch it, but also record it, every week.


Here is the most important part of this last season:

Translation:

Juan Pablo: "It's okay! [Bleeeep] [something intelligable]"

Caresses girl's eyeball.

Girl: Waves his hand away from her eyeball and says, "Don't mess up my makeup."

I just saved you the trouble of watching the entire season. So you're welcome. 

***

Now that that's out of the way, let's talk about my attitude, which becomes really scary when the weather gets cold.

So like, I need to get over it. I'm not talking about my use of the word "like," which I've resisted in the 18 years I spent in the heartland of "like."

I'm talking about my attitude. I know that winter is the real deal, and that I should be somewhat used to it now after like six years, but...well...I have no real end to that sentence.


Let's go back to The Bachelor now.

...

Luckily, every season ends, not just of The Bachelor, but also winter. Unless of course, if doesn't.

The best thing about winter are the comforts to the rough moments, like

1. Good uncles who get you out of a parking space.

2. Trips to Las Vegas. 

Let's talk about Vegas for a second as it relates to The Bachelor. 

Why, chicklets, do young women not of my style dress like they just bought the latest piece of dental floss for $100 to wear around their mid sections, walk in shoes that can kill them, and think it's fun?

What is the sociological implication of desperation in the 21st century as it was established by atheism in the middle ages in the suburbs of what was once the ancient peoples of the civilization of Sumar?

 ***

Additionally, I have other coping mechanisms for winter.


3. Others who are equally as angry (thanks to the internet for this uncredited video):

***

The biggest comfort though, is my new entrepreneurial venture.

Drum roll...

My positivity journal.

WTF (Why, That's Fabulous), you're probably thinking.


In the six days since I bought this meager stack of lined-paper for $18 at a bird sanctuary serving as a sanctuary store, I think I've had real success.

Entry #1: I HAVEN'T WRITTEN ANYTHING BY HAND SINCE I WAS 12. I REALLY MISS THE GLOW OF THE COMPUTER SCREEN. But the girl on The Bachelor missed her only child who she left for three months to "find love," and then didn't actually find love, so I'll survive this. 

Entry #217: I am being negative right now. Not.

Cheer up though, chicklets. I know you're going through the same stuff I am, and if there's one thing better than misery, it is company.

So let's all caress each other's eye balls and get through this together. One episode at a time, straight on 'till summer. 

What ART I am-ith

So it's a new year, and time we had a very important discussion...

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF MY NEW BOOTS?!?!

I knew you'd love them. I sure do, after five years of barely cheating hypothermia with each pair of these failures.  

Now let's talk about something of equal importance--the purpose of this blog. 

Another self-serving, useless piece of cyber space real estate? A forum for intelligent discussion? Neither?

We'll get into this discussion with a whiney rant. I know you love those.

I started this blog a few years back to talk about my adventures and to have a place for self-expression, only to soon worry that it is selfish of me to only write about myself when there are wars and Kim Kardashians in the world, only to then realize that it's okay to write about myself because my honesty will somehow cure the world of all its problems, only to then flail in this cycle of immense and unproductive self-consciousness. 

Why? 

Because at this point in my life I actually am trying to get my stuff figured out enough that I don't actually want to waste time or space with something that doesn't matter. How about that, I mean it. 

How adult of me, right?

See, I just spent three weeks working on this post only to delete it because it was all wrong. Now, I need to be somewhere in 10 minutes, and consequently am filled with such inspiration that I am sitting down to write this. 

Sometimes I have these wild moments of intense clarity at the climax of one arduous journey only to have it evaporate the second after it arrives. 

Here are examples of this plight:
 
1. After a long road of becoming a vegetarian, the holidays taught me that "turkey" is considered a vegetable. Now I have never loved meat more. 


2. After almost 28 years of dealing with some of the most unruly hair that ever existed, from chemical relaxers to 500 degree flat irons to "interventions" by hair stylists, I've never been happier to have thick hair so that I could donate it.

(Thanks Locks of Love for the inspiration.)

3. At a time when I was ready to leave Boston for feeling fed up with its many consistent frustrations (see above winter boots situation), I then somehow began to truly embrace it.


4. I just recently decided to move on from my first official teaching job after being there for more than three years. The wonderful music store and its great staff and community made me grow into a legitimate teacher and solidified my musicianship.
Why would I leave? 
Over something really stupid. Traffic!
I finally had to decide that the amount of energy getting somewhere shouldn't necessarily outweigh the amount of energy spent doing the thing you're going there to do. 

There are other reasons too, of course. I have plans. 
 


HOWEVER! 
The very minute I walked out on my last day, clarity hit again like a frying pan over the head.

Perhaps teaching is in fact what I am meant to do! Would this have hit me if I hadn't chosen to leave? What does this mean? 

Who knows. Back to the cycle.

5. I look down on and resent bad art, but spend a lot of my free time learning guitar chords for Miley Cyrus songs. 

Perhaps all this is leading to the question of what art really is.

Just like what makes a good blog post or good life choices, what makes good art?

Good art is what makes you stay in front of the television for three days straight with the shades drawn, sweat glistening around your blood shot eyes, eating nothing but funyans that stick to your pajamas, and having all it go by like three minutes. 

Bad art is nothing but shock value.

Cheer up though, chicklets.

Bad art makes good art stand out because art usually stems from the unfairness of the world, and therefore intense suffering. So, if this blog is bad art to you, it'll make the good art that much more appreciated. 

Therefore, I proclaim that I am doing a mitzvah.

Also, it's just this simple. Sometimes I'd rather write about winter boots than the existential paradigm of the changing climate of classical music as it relates to Armenian politics in the 29th century.

So sometimes bad art is okay. Sometimes I'd rather be myself and entertaining than someone else and boring. 

"Entertainment" can even become legitimate art. Here are examples:

1. Musical artists like Bach, Madonna, George Gershwin, Gregorian monks, Miley Cyrus (to name a short few). 

2. Nudity on network television. 

3. Rothko, Picasso, my finger paintings as a young toddler.  
4. The dollar rack at Target.

5. Lip plumper from the dollar rack at Target. 

 CONCLUSION:

In the end, "success" is always admirable. The fact that you're reading this at all is success to me. 

That's why I add lots of pictures--so you will keep scrolling down.
 

"Please shut up."

But the success discussion is for another time, if you are even still on speaking terms with me after this. 

Maybe it is actually this simple:

Each creation, no matter what the level it is, 
is just a vague collection of atomic particles of star dust 
in one practically nonexistent fraction 
of this vast infinite, incomprehensible abyss of a universe. 

Please discuss amongst yourselves now. I need a break.

What We Talk About When We Talk About...

1. Hair

Answer this for me, my little chicklets. Why is it that the Red Sox get all this attention for shaving their beards, but when I go in for a hair cut, I GET NOTHING?! Actually, I get less than nothing. I lose three hours of my life breathing in toxic chemicals as my scalp screams, my bank account drains, and my inner child sobs while taking in celebrity gossip in People Magazine circa 1993. Why wasn't I born as a male pro athlete?

(Fyi, I will be donating this mess in the spring, because I AM A GOOD PERSON, right?).

2. Halloween

For those of you who accept me for who I am (if you're reading this, you're on that track), you know that nothing gives me so much of an endorphin rush/rise/natural high as pulling off a great Halloween costume.

I mean nothing. Not even breathing.

That's why this entry might seem like the tip of the iceberg of an extreme narcissist.
Don't worry, though. I promise, I am not [that much of] a narcissist. I just think these topics are worth discussing.

The criteria for these costumes are the following:

• very politically incorrect
• borderline offensive
• use of eye liner
• sometimes the use of fake tanner.

Let's recall the moments in time when I shined the most.

• 2004: Baby Spice (of the Spice Girls)

• 2008: Ozzy Osbourne

• 2010: Octomom

• 2011: Occupy Wall Street

• 2012: Tanorexic Mom

• 2013: Paula Dean

What happened in between 2005 and 2008? you might be wondering.
I don't remember, is the answer, which can only mean one thing. Or several.


3. Vegetables



I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT! I...am...now..a...

vegetarian.

Am I crazy? you might ask.
You know it, and that's why you like me.

The reasons for this decision include the following:

• I love animals.
• I may have been brainwashed by pro-vegetarianism documentaries on netflix.
• I want to singlehandedly save the planet from selfish, global-warming-inducing jerk politicians. That along with donating my hair makes me A GOOD PERSON, right?

Additionally, I want to do it for me, and for all those other chicklets out there who just...wish they could be me.

Sigh.

HOWEVER, I want to be clear. I know I'm not, but I want to be.

I am not trying to brainwash you, chicklets. EAT WHAT YOU WANT.

Now you can roll your eyes and judge me for being weird and making it difficult to go out to dinner with me, even though it isn't difficult for YOU.

4. Falling

•  Falling back for daylight savings time: I HATE IT. 
•  Fall in New England: I LOVE IT.

I'm a Musician (damnit)!

Yes, that's right. Since the womb, rocking out to 1980's ballads through the headphones, since toddler-ism, banging with both fists on a fake piano, since early childhood when I was the only person under 40 at rock concerts with my dad. And most importantly, since the day I watched Annie Lennox through the TV screen, singing in a music video from YEARS before my birth, and she randomly whipped out a flute and played three notes. That was it for me! The rest is history.

No, but seriously. No.

In a flash I am now in my mid, to late, to mid twenties, and thinking, WTF?

I drive more than many soccer moms do, between my teaching commitments in six different locations, performances in countless additional locations, weddings in locations not ever even seen on satellites, my day job, suburban living location...........splat.

How do I do it? people ask.

With multi vitamins, coffee, and no real weekends, I answer.

How is that a legit career? people ask, either with words, or with looks.

How is it not? I reply, my inner child crumbling under the weight of constant misunderstanding, judgement, and failed efforts for justification.

Why did I choose this rough, inconsistent lifestyle when I could've been President?

Sometimes I know the answer, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I have amnesia at what got me here. Then other times, thankfully, I remember. It is because I believe.

I believe art is legitimate. I believe that it saves people. I believe that it saved me. I believe it is worthy of a life in it.

I also believe that being a musician is more fun than being President, and it is an equal level of service as being a politician. Especially these last few weeks.

I could've been a doctor, but I get nauseous at the sight of paper cuts. Or a lawyer, but I'm too good of a person.

But enough hypoteheticalizing.

Enough whining!

This is just the cycle, my little chicklets.

I work hard, I sweat, I struggle, I work harder, I fall, I get up, and I keep going. Then, I reach a successful point and all is well. And then the process repeats again.

The most recent point of success is worth talking about.

On Columbus Day weekend, and I was backstage of Distler Performance Hall at Tufts University, not coordinating or managing logistics of a concert (which is my actual job there), but getting ready to perform in it. I perform often, but this time, I was the producer AND performer.

"How many people are here?" I asked the stage manager before the show began.

"A lot," he said. "Like 40."

"For real?"

"Yep."

I proceeded to jump up and down.

"People SHOWED UP! ON A HOLIDAY WEEKEND! REAL FLESH IN BLOOD PEOPLE! WOW!"

The audience would grow to almost 100, plus at least half that many viewers on the online live stream.

Then, there was a moment on stage, with the dancers and actors and other musicians, when it seemed right. I felt happiness percolating from the 20 fellow artists at having an opportunity to perform, to do what they love for an appreciative audience.

So, this is what it's all about.

(A good review doesn't hurt either.)

Stay tuned for when this concert, Proclaiming Pan, will appear on youtube in the coming weeks.

So, until "reality" sets in again, I'd like to declare that I am a musician. Until tomorrow, when I'll want to be President or the next world class basket weaver.

Little Poster, Big World

 Oh thee little poster in a coffee shop, how longst will thou survive in this poster-eat-poster kind of world?

--> I am planning a concert in October called Proclaiming Pan. See more information here and here. If you live in Boston, PLEASE  COME.

 PLEASE. 

If you come, I'll give you tickets at  

50% off

No..

75% off

No.

FREE. 

(Admission is actually free to begin with)

No. 

I will PAY you to come. 

No. 

Actually, yes. I literally will.   

It is on the Tufts University Music calendar. Make sure it is on yours!

 

By the way, I'm happy to be back on the blog-o-sphere. I will keep it updated regularly from now on! :-)

Cross Country Road Trip Chonicles

To read about my enticing cross country road trip, go here.