Testing Theories.

They say there's linings made of silver
Folded inside each raining cloud
Well we need someone to deliver
Our silver lining now

I’m on my fourth cup of burning hot coffee, willing myself to return to my graduate work.  I can't seem to focus after all that has and is about to occur.  I'm scatterbrained, distracted, jumpy, and hardly able to sleep.

This is not  a result of watching Paranormal Activity II recently, despite that fact that it seriously disturbed/scared the hell out of me.

No, the reality of my life is coming into full circle after so much drama. 

It’s the realization of moving on entirely that keeps me awake. I keep moving.  I keep busy.  I've made new friends, embarked on new journeys inside and out of the country, and I don't spend my evenings sitting home alone waiting for someone to call. 

Can you imagine your significant other checking your phone records, questioning everyone you talk to and text?  I’ve been there.

Then there was a series of horrible, degrading voicemails and emails criticizing my character and berating every aspect of who I am which caused me to seriously reconsider all of this.  All of my decisions, all of my commitments, quite literally everything I’ve considered to be mine, ours, always.

It was an emotional rollercoaster.  I finally responded, demanding that he quit the nasty emails because quite frankly, the abusive language must stop- or I’m walking. For good.

And then he called prepared with a symphony of apologies and love- the complete opposite of the spectrum.  I'm not going to lie. I broke down completely.  and not in a I’m so sorry I shouldn't be doing what I’ve been doing it's all my fault kind of way. 

but in a ohmygod I can't believe you expect me to live like this forever kind of way. 

It’s frightening. 


So I keep drinking coffee, and listening to [my] old, old music this morning.  You know the stuff I used to be made of.  I’m actually surprised it was all still there, hiding in the midst of soundclick.com- ready to be heard.  Surprising to be reminded that I used to sing.

Finally, I was tired of not being heard.  I prefer to have an answer that doesn't judge, or make me feel guilty for who I was, who I am, and who I’m going to become.

"Well, you'll never find anyone who can love you, take care of you, and stay committed to you the way that I am."

 I dared to test that theory.  He was wrong.

Like father, Like daughter?

Hopefully, not.  The promises we choose to keep are important ones.  One particular promise lingers in my memory.  In my childlike hope, I made a very specific promise to myself, and to my father.

Is it possible to feel less educated after achieving a degree?  Dedicating myself to education certainly has its ups and downs, but Sometimes I am convinced I’ve failed.  Overwhelmed and outnumbered by concepts and numbers and equations that appear inapplicable to my life.  Many hours of brain cells spent on drinking caffeine and wishing to understand theoretical theory as applied to the philosophy of music education. 

Once in awhile, there is inquiry and discovery as to the origin of my musical propensity.  I would like to say it derives from both parents, equal in musical knowledge and as brilliant educators.  The following question always enters my mind in consideration of parental relationships:  Are you most like mother or father?  For me, it’s my father- and this horrifies me more than you can imagine.

Absent for so many years due to my own will to kick his ass out of my life, once in awhile he manages to reappear.  He is brimming with interest in his sudden discovery in personal commonalities: our shared passion for musical knowledge, dry sarcasm, and realistic view of the world.  “I know you”, he says, wanting another chance.  Somewhere between 12 years, two new daughters, a missed daughter's wedding, and a girl lost in the middle, he decided he felt like building a bridge. 

Too bad he was too late.

 I’m still trying to find my escape from the gravity of the word daughter he uses to describe me.  In fact, I never heard such a label until I refused to acknowledge it.  I've been a disappointment, a shadow, an enigma, the bookworm, the awkward inarticulate bore of a child.  And at this point I thought, why should he take interest now?

I remember one day when I was four years old.  We were in the car, and he was driving while chain smoking cigarettes with closed windows (as usual).  He asked me who I wanted to be when I grew up.  That was when I boldly informed him I would never be like him.  That I would not make his choices, refusing to repeat his history.  Miserable, destroying my dreams and those I claim I love.  I told him I would not be him when I grew up. 

He chuckled. Flicked his cigarette through a crack in the window.  And said, “You just wait.”
. 

Wise and realized.

“Now I want to go away into my silent art; if I only had no fingers, and could play with my heart on other hearts.”  I believe Schumann had it right when he evolved from worrisome piano technique to playing the piano (and composing) with the brilliance that can only stem from his emotional capacity to express the abstract musical language. 

I have now completed one year of Graduate School, and having just finished the most dreaded class of all – music theory – I’m feeling a bit more accomplished than I was six weeks ago.  The class has been enthralling, frustrating, maddening, enlightening, and entirely cathartic.  During my undergraduate experience, I remember professors informing me of my analytic inabilities (or lack thereof) and how far I fell short of my understanding of any and all components of music examination.  So I said “screw it, I hate this class anyway.” And skipped most of the semester, barely scraping by with a B-. 

 I approached this class as a challenge- an invigorating mess of conquering the demons to whom I submitted in college, actually admitting that “I couldn’t do it”.  No, I wouldn’t  do it.  Eight years later, older and wiser, I was determined NOT to score straight A’s (although wouldn’t that be nice?), but to actually immerse myself in information.  To play each Beethoven, Bach, Schumann, or Chopin piece until I could feel myself understanding the chords dancing beneath my fingers on the keyboard. 

The course is online, and so the lectures were limited, the information and assignments astoundingly difficult. Checking in on discussions were stressful – filled with stressed out classmates, parents, wives, teachers holding several jobs.  I simply stopped paying attention to the whining after awhile.  I truly cannot cope with people who express their stress in such verbose and unnecessary manner.  I worked alone and on my own.

At 6:24 PM last night, I finished my final thoughts on my Schumann analysis and turned the eleven page paper in along with the Roman Numeral Analysis of his Novelletten, No. 1.  And of course, I toasted my farewell to the course with a bottle of wine. 

I woke up this morning contemplating all that I have accomplished in the past few weeks, and I finally realized that I have overcome the frustration that is my so- called non-analytical brain.  I finally triumphed in understanding the elements of music analysis, despite the disdainful memories of my undergraduate experience.  It just goes to show you that with determination and patience, one can conquer any hurdle that is thrown.  And I’ve emerged a wiser and more accomplished musician because of it.  

workout routines: our love/hate relationship

The world continues to threaten coming to an end, this morning.  Like I said yesterday- I hope not, because I have THINGS TO DO.  like take naps, watch Dexter, and consider my workout options.

Flashback to one year plus two months ago.  I began the P90X workout challenge, smirking inwardly at the fact that I was even attempting the damn thing.  It’s a ridiculous work out – as in whip-yo-ass-into-shape-mofo workout (yes, the slang among inner city schools has affected my vocabulary).  But I did it.  I woke up at 5am to work out for an hour every morning, alternating dvds and performing the following:  200 pull ups/push ups,  plyometrics (hardcore jumping routine for an hour), weightlifting,  kickboxing, 90 minute yoga, YOU NAME IT.

I was GOOD at this, after copious amounts of practice of course.  I love the routine.  I enjoyed it, even looked forward to it!

  And I have to admit, even after just 30 days I was one hundred times stronger.  It was normal for my girlfriends to ask me to lift heavy boxes.  It was normal for me to partake in arm wrestling matches at the local Irish pub.  Okay, not really – but you get the picture. 

Graduate school began, which then magically vacuumed all free time in my life.  Then I travelled to Edinburgh, and a few months later, New Orleans.  And somewhere between the stress and vacations I became a chronic lush.   Now? I'm simply trying to imagine sneaking in workouts here and there.

Not that I am complaining about my drinking technique.  In fact, these acquired skills impressed a pub full of Irish men just last week.  However.

It’s time to begin the workout routine again- somewhere between working, school, and life.  In order to aid in the process, I’ve begun researching gyms in Old Town and asking around for local opinions.  All I can say is – Jesus Christ on a Cracker gym membership is EXPENSIVE. 

Required qualifications:  Convenient distance.  Inexpensive- as in, less than $100 per month.  I’m sorry, but I am a mere teacher.  In this economy,  paying more for a gym membership is simply not an option.

1. Old Town Sport and Health.

Pros:  Only two blocks from my building, overlooking the Potomac.  Fairly typical gym involving machines, classes, and locker rooms.  Mostly clean (which is important!)

Cons: 2.5 stars on Yelp.  Terribly expensive at over $100 per month.  BOO.  I’ve also heard it’s impossible to escape a contract once you sign.  BOO.

2. LA Boxing. 

Pros:I’ve heard lots of fabulous things about this place.  They consistently have a promotion allowing you to take one free class before making a decision.  You burn 1,000 calories in a one hour workout (holy hell, that’s about 5 beers!)  Also, only .5 miles away.

Cons:  Contract.  I hear they offer month to month but at a terribly expensive price.  No lockers.  No changing area. 

3. Snap Fitness

       Pros:  Month to month membership at $50 per month! 

      Cons: This seems to consist as a tiny room filled with machines.  If all you want to do is sweat on the elliptical every day for an hour, this is the place for you.  No changing area.  1 mile away from home, which means driving and looking for street parking on King Street- which.. is unlikely.

After researching online, my positive attitude toward getting back on the workout wagon is slightly depleted.  Perhaps I should simply try running the trail by the Potomac?  Or perhaps I should attempt P90X in my tiny 380 square foot studio.  Perhaps my motivation will sneak out the window and disappear forever?  That would be a travesty.

I have yet to decide.  Taking a look in person at these places (at the very least) would probably be the best decision.

All this research/thinking/worrying makes me want to nap.

Addressing the issues: Drivers and Pedestrians.

Dear Pedestrians and Drivers of the tiny (however charming) city we so affectionately dub: “Old Town”.  I have a few thoughts burdening me and truly, I need to get them off my chest.  After moving from the ever ghettofying clutches of southern Maryland, I’ve come to the realization that OT people annoy me as well.  Perhaps it’s me.  Yeah, it’s probably definitely me.  My cynicism toward entitled people grows because of the following issues. 

Drivers:  What NOT to do. 

1. Have you ever heard of four way stops?  There are magical signs in bright red that tell us to STOP.  If three other cars arrive at the intersection, whom ever stopped first should go first.  So no, slowing down, quickly checking for cops, coasting through, and accelerating back to 50 mph in .47 seconds is not acceptable.

2. The fact that your typical muscle car (most likely a Mustang or Camero)  can accelerate to 50 mph in .47 seconds does not impress me.  Actually as a pedestrian, I would say this slightly alarms me.

3. Why must you stop suddenly in the middle of the road to “park” when there is a perfectly decent parking lane directly to your right?  And why does oncoming traffic feel the need to actually speed up so that I can’t get around you? I do not comprehend.

4.  If there is a gigantic sign at an intersection with a no turn left in bright red, why do you feel the need to attempt to turn left anyway? And why is it necessary to make this feeble attempt during rush hour?   Your really ought to feel ashamed of yourself, even embarrassed.  Because now every single car trying to get around you/behind you/ in front of you is now flipping you off and calling you a douchebag.  Figure it out.

5. Just because you (or your rich husband) can afford a BMW convertible does not make you more entitled to the road than other people.  Hell, I see about 17 of those convertibles lining the same street on my same walk every damn day.  So no, your special car does not make you extra special. 

6. I forget what I was going to say, but it was good.  You should feel lucky.

Pedestrians:  What NOT to do.

1. There are intersections with lights.  Lots of them . And they all have magical signs that tell us when it’s okay to cross.  Is there a white man walking?  Is there a neon orange sign telling you not to step into oncoming traffic?  Read it. Learn it.  And quit flipping drivers off for going around you when you make stupid decisions.

2. I realize you have the right to cross at a four way stop.  However, could you do the world a favor and pay attention?  I realize that the four blocks from your front door to the local pub can get so monotonous and boring that you absolutely must listen to your iPod (so loud that everyone around you can also listen to your obnoxious music)  and/or text everyone you know on the planet, but do you remember the rules your mommy taught you?  Stop. Listen. Look. Then go.  Go back to that mantra.  It might work out better for you in the end.  As in, save your life.

3. Yes, I understand that you are lazy and therefore, would prefer to J walk behind the giant truck obstructing the view of oncoming traffic.  But ask yourself, is this a healthy decision? Will I live to J walk another day?  Try J walking when there aren't about fourteen cars speeding up toward the next four way stop.  And perhaps try not to step out behind the giant white truck obstructing everyone's view.  Just sayin'.

I realize that not everyone is a total ass in every situation involving the road.  Hell, even I have my classy moments.  But seriously, I find myself wondering why everyone walks/drives around like zombies.  I don’t understand it.  At least, if nothing else-  the constant chaos that involves stupid people on a daily basis causes me to stop and be grateful for those few kind people who actually, I don’t know, drive/walk legally.  Or even wave someone forward at a stop sign.  It’s just nice. 

 So next time someone stops for you, smiles and waves you on, pay that tiny, miniscule kindness forward.  Because you never know when you might see that kindness again.

Oh my darling lemon pie.

Mondegreen: n.  A form of error arising from mishearing a spoken or sung phrase; A misunderstanding of a written or spoken phrase as a result of multiple definitions

I don’t know about you, but I manage to mishear / misinterpret lyrics ALL the time.

Examples of my past personal hearing failures:

1.  Do the lucky lady.
Actual lyric: Dude looks like a lady.

I actually prefer my lyrical rendition of this popular Aerosmith line.

2.  Hold me closer, Tony Danza
Count the head lice on the highway.
Actual lyric: Hold me closer, tiny dancer.

Sorry Elton John- it was an honest mistake at the ripe age of seven!

And finally,

Number 3.

When it’s cold outside,  I’ve got the wonder gay. 

Actual lyric: When it's cold outside,I've got the month of May.

Quite honestly, I don't know what the hell i was thinking/singing.. although, I do believe a hairbrush, a mirror, and maybe, just maybe my older sister's stolen bright red lipstick were involved. 

 You would think I was dropped on my head as a child, perhaps even several times.  But no, at the age of eleven I STILL thought I had that Temptations line right.. until the movie (My Girl) came out and I realized what a fool I was.

So, next time you screw up a karaoke line at the local bar, blame it on the tequila.  Or the fact that you heard a mondegreen.  Either way, these are totally legitimate excuses.. and really, you're not the only one.

meloncholy morning

This morning I woke up wishing I could remember my dream last night. I know it was incredibly vivid, and something terribly sad ocurred. The kind of dream that made me want to mourn over losing someone dear to me. I don't know who it was or what happened. I'm not sure if this is fortunate or not.

It's a slightly meloncholy morning. the sky is grey, and I'm moving rather slowly to the rhythmic sounds of Scriabin's Preludes. The room is quiet and empty, but well lived in. slightly messy, slightly cluttered, but pieces of personality splashed on the walls in black and white sections and some in color.  The calm before the storm involving classes and children desperately seeking my attention.

There are a lot of things I miss right now from my home- my original home. I miss my mother (despite what I might say otherwise). I miss my sister's conversational advice from years ago. I miss the way my niece was so completely attached to me- called me nanny (because Annie is was apparently too difficult a word for a toddler) but wouldn't say anyone else's name, no matter how much they attempted to get her to repeat it.

I miss playing my piano at home at one o'clock in the morning.
I miss the beach. I miss driving alone with the Beatles.
I miss late nights at local diners and their bottomless cups of coffee to accompany the book I happened to be reading.
I miss my grandma's soup. She made a different kind almost every day. I miss seeing my grandpa's finished and unfinished crossword puzzles all over the house.

I miss the friendship i had for fifteen years, then watched it slowly drift away with time and distance.
And then I began thinking about the beginnings of new friendship.  The kind that breaks down barriers somewhere between casual conversation and the sudden realization of being on the same intellectual plane. 

It's funny how relationships begin and end. They are easily created every day.. But my question is..
Can they be recreated? is it really possible to let go for awhile..
and then begin again? can we wipe the slate clean?
I wish I knew. time will tell, I suppose.