tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49705611136663876282024-02-20T09:29:27.584-05:00The Musical Experience of a Slightly Forgetful TeenagerAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-78736434376285672692013-07-24T00:41:00.001-04:002013-07-24T00:41:02.069-04:00Awesome
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last summer, I went to horn camp in New Hampshire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I distinctly remember this one conversation
with a camp participant from Germany.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
group of us had never been out of the country and so we goofily asked him if
European people were different from Americans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He chuckled (I’d like to think it was laughing with us and not at us,
but I’m inclined to believe otherwise) and told us that there wasn’t a large
difference.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People hadn’t magically
evolved in Europe to have a different number of limbs or anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not like there was a giant wall internally
separating a country from itself—that’s just foolish and besides, China’s done
that already.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Have some class,
Germany).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But honestly, for the most part, we are all
similar in our mannerisms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was
really only one difference he could think of: Europeans are very literal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know it may be hard to wrap your head around but some of
the million trillion gazillion American citizens do occasionally
exaggerate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not claiming that this
is a gigantic flaw in the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
simply admitting that we can tell a good red, blue, white lie from time to
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But in Europe, it is not so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Descriptions are accurate and honest,
exaggerations are held to a minimum, and words are used in their original
intent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A sandwich cannot be <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">awe</i></b>some
unless when you eat it, the Queen of England comes out and gives a rousing
toast to you and your life accomplishments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Although, I would think that it would be hard to eat the sandwich if
your jaw has dropped straight to the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, speaking in a European style, my time in London was
awesome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me prove it to you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our first day was our concert day and we would be performing
at the Proms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For those of you who
don’t know, the Proms is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not </i>a series
of classical music performances at different high school dances all across
London.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Proms <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is </i>a month(ish) long festival of different performances, all taking
place at Royal Albert Hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Think
Woodstock with tails and bowties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
there’s a twist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At proms (which stands
for promenades), you can either purchase actual seats which typically are
expensive and very hard to get, or you can wait in line on the day of the
concert and purchase standing room only tickets that will put you either in the
gallery above the paid seats or in the arena which goes directly up to the
stage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And people do camp out for these
tickets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the US, we wait outside in
tents for iPhones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the UK, they camp
outside for babies and classical music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
kind of country. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It can get kind of busy, though, in Royal Albert Hall with
concerts happening every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right
after our dress rehearsal, Daniel Barenboim, former conductor of the Chicago
Symphony was conducting a German orchestra in a rehearsal of the Ring
Cycle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Note: this is not at all the
same as the Lord of the Rings Trilogy).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Needless to say, I opted to stay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And I’ve come to this conclusion: Daniel Barenboim would make even Chuck
Norris scared to miss an entrance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
spoke mostly in German so I couldn’t exactly understand the words, but I’m
pretty sure that I’m not allowed to say that kind of vocabulary on this
blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ll just have to use your
imagination, I guess.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I thought my imagination was playing tricks on me later
in the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was heading out of the
dorms at the Imperial College and I saw one of the other horn players in NYO,
Weston, talking to another musician.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Judging by the case, I thought maybe they were a hornist too and were
waiting in line to hear our concert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
decided to wait for Weston and when the unknown player turned around I just about
pulled out some of Daniel Barenboim’s favorite words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now when I tell you the name of this person,
many of you won’t know who it is, but if you could react like I told you that I
met the royal baby, that would be great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Right there, on the street was Stefan Dohr, principal horn of the Berlin
Philharmonic and debatably one of the greatest living orchestral horn
players.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the fact that it is my
middle name, I immediately lost all the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">grace</i>
I had in my mad rush to meet him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d
been subbing with the German orchestra from earlier and was in London “just for
a bit.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But now, he was in front of my
dorm room waiting “for a friend”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
offered to be the friend he was waiting for, but he respectfully declined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can tell how excited I was by the frantic
state of my hair in the picture I got with him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In retrospect, I certainly consider this a good omen for the
concert later that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because this
blog post will be exceptionally long (see the blog post on procrastination), I
will save that evening’s performance until the end so that you are forced to
continue reading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mwahahaha, I have you
now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next day was the day we got to explore the rest of
London and the city certainly gave us a warm welcome—it was literally the
hottest day of the year thus far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
almost like I never left Florida.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So,
covered in a layer of sweat we had a private tour of the tower of London with
the crown jewels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just an FYI: Ladies,
if you are in the market for a wedding ring or crown, the Queen knows a
guy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gentleman, if your lady is
interested, I’ll try to put you in touch with Her Majesty and you can exchange
services or something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure she’d
love a nice foot rub if you’re up for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I certainly needed one after the
walking tour we did of the Thames River including the Globe Theater and
Millenium Bridge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the color of
the Thames (a mystery meat milkshake kind of look), I might have considered
swimming to get out of the heat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After a bus tour and a picnic lunch in Hyde Park, we were on
our own for about an hour and 45 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Before I tell you the next part of the story, you have to understand
where I’m coming from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whenever my
family goes on vacation, we <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>go</u></i></b> on vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Going to a major city?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We do every possible signature landmark and
activity possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Going to a tropical
destination? We are scuba diving and hiking every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Going to a theme park?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We almost kill my grandparents riding every
single ride in the four Disney parks because God forbid we miss one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s how we do vacations in my family and
so, given an hour and 45 minutes, that’s how I did London.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took the Tube (the subway system not the
Television Set) to Buckingham Palace, walked to Big Ben, and at three o’clock,
I entered the Westminster abbey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had
to be back by 3:45.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And walking into the
church, it just completely took my breath away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Normally, I’d encourage you to look up everything I’m saying (for
fact-checking purposes so you can hold something over my head later) but I
don’t think you should Google pictures of the abbey because they won’t do it an
ounce of justice. Every architectural decision made, every historical figure
buried, it is so spectacular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
spectacular in fact that not only was my breath taken away but also, my sense
of time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I left the Abbey at 3:30.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I must have looked like the biggest idiot in the whole
city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here I am, sprinting, in a
collared shirt and a pair of jeans, with my flip-flops in my hand (I’d taken
them off so I could run faster) down the streets of London, trying to make a
thirty minute journey into a fifteen minute one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I arrived at the dorms, tragically out of
breath and out of energy at 3:49.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
after booking it up to my room to change into formal attire, I was on the bus,
seated at 3:53 wearing a dress, a pair of nice shoes, with my hair combed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I said that I could win the Olympics for
procrastination, I wasn’t kidding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s not poor preparation, that’s a talent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You may have noticed my mentioning of the royal baby several
times throughout this post, and that’s how it was in London.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone in the city constantly had one eye
on the tube (the actual TV this time), waiting to see if any news would come of
the future heir to the throne.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And while
we were at our final closeout party, hosted at the offices of Bloomberg, the
news came: IT’S A BOY.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as soon as we
arrived back at the hotel, I was back out to Buckingham Palace again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I got there, the only way I can think to
describe the scene is imagine the largest US rock concert and then multiply
that by 8lbs 6oz.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were a lot of
people, and most of them, including myself, wanted a picture of what was behind
the gates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Judging by the crowd size,
you would have guessed that the royal baby was sitting there with it’s parents
doing a question and answer session.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
instead, what everyone was clamouring to get a picture of was the easel with
the official birth announcement on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So, a friend and I slowly worked to the front which involved a lot of
pushing, a lot of casual conversation, and one guy who kept yelling things like
“EVERYONE, THE QUEEN IS BEHIND US ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE COURTYARD SIGNING
AUTOGRAPHS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WE SHOULD ALL GET OUT OF
LINE TO SEE HER!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mission: successful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sort of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My digital camera ran out battery just as I was getting up
to the front of the line, so I needed to use my iPod to take the picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d been keeping my debit card in the back of
my iPod case so that it wouldn’t get lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Before you criticize that idea, it had been working very well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, that all came to an end when I
took my iPod out of its case to get a clear picture and the debit card fell
out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Onto the ground. Under the feet of
a massive amount of people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the
middle of the busiest place in London.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not to worry, I cancelled the card and no purchases were
made on it and I’d like to point out that I picked a very good time, the last
day, to have to go without it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
before there are claims that I broke my streak of losing something, I would
like to point out that I did not lose my debit card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew exactly where it was, I just chose not
to go back and get it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a giant
difference.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And with that, my time in England
had come to a close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It might not be the
best note to finish on, but I still think it was a fantastic journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But by far, the most wonderful part of it all
was the concert we performed at the Royal Albert Hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I mentioned in my blog post about
the Kennedy Center that the performer gives the audience member a collective
emotional experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It takes the occurances
and feelings of those in the hall and combines them with the intentions and
magic of the music being performed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
in this process, one of the most essential parts is the experiences and energy
provided by the audience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the Proms,
every person in the theater is excited and thrilled to be hearing the work of
the performers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They sit on the edge of
their seats and those who are standing creep closer towards the stage trying to
drink from the music that pours from the orchestra.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is what we encountered at the
Proms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is what made the concert so
special.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We immediately were baffled by the
9,000 people in the sold out hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
mosaic created by their faces was far more beautiful than any architecture
found in the Westminster Abbey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their
raw excitement and emotional experiences were exponentially greater than the
anticipation over the delivery of the royal baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fire that they each brought into the
room combined into a blaze that was far greater than the heat wave taking place
outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The people listening fed us, as
performers, and we returned the favor with the emotion that can only be expressed
through the compositions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that night,
the performers were not the cause of the beauty that was created, the audience
members were.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Similarly, this entire NYO
experience has been something that has been made not by the spectacular
locations we have performed in, the individual creativity it encourages, or
even the vast amount of musical knowledge that I have learned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NYO has been unforgettable because of the
people who surrounded and supported us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That includes those at home, those behind the scenes, and the
participants who have been on the journey together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pure enjoyment and raw passion that was
brought to music has been a cycle of inspiration, encouraging us to support and
feed the joy of others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I write this final post from
the Newark air terminal with my passport resting safely inside my bag (I just
checked), I know that this chapter in our lives is coming to a close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that every single member of the
inaugural season of NYO will be wildly successful in their own right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether they pursue music or something
equally as wonderful, the young people on this trip <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">will</i></b> be magnificent and
the future of the nation, in my opinion, could not look brighter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But no matter the successes to come, I know
that this summer will never be forgotten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It will be something that is always to be remembered, chronicled on
Facebook, and one day will be looked at with nostalgia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I start to prepare for college,
I can’t wait for what the future brings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I hope to continue to blog because it makes me laugh just as much as it
makes you cringe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Please check out the
new page at <a href="http://rachmaninoffmyrocker.blogspot.com/">http://rachmaninoffmyrocker.blogspot.com/</a> )But most of all, I look forward to the stunning growth of
each and every member of the inaugural season of the National Youth Orchestra
of the United States of America.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because ultimately, there is only
one word that can describe this journey we have made together:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Awesome.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-19216095425054637422013-07-22T21:30:00.001-04:002013-07-22T21:30:12.512-04:00Forgive Me.I apologize for not writing in the past few days. I hate to say I've been doing better things with my time, but it is true. However, I will be blogging tomorrow so if you'd like, you can come back then to hear about my time in London. As you might have guessed it's been pretty crazy:<br />
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What with the baby and all...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-36421432335036367282013-07-20T21:43:00.001-04:002013-07-20T21:45:24.325-04:00Scientific MethodWaking up on time is one of my greatest weaknesses. I know I've already talked about it, but I think it needs to be addressed again with the great frequency with which it occurs. It's really just an ongoing experiment, if you will, and so, I will describe it through the scientific method to further clarify (and also to prove to my parents that their tax dollars did teach me something).<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Problem: Nikki LaBonte sleeps as heavily as one of those slumbering giants of ancient Aztec legend.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hypothesis: If alarm clocks annoy her enough, then maybe she will decide it's more convenient to start moving than to deal with the hassle.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Dependent Variable: Tardiness to school.</div>
<div>
Independent Variable: Number of decibels created by combined volume of all alarm clocks used.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Materials:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>2 alarm clocks with 2 available alarm times each</li>
<li>One iPod app that monitors your sleep cycle based on movements during the night.</li>
<li>A basic need to get up.</li>
<li>A mom to rely on, in case of emergencies.</li>
</ul>
<div>
Procedure: </div>
<div>
<ol>
<li>Strategically position the alarms around the room to achieve the most annoying and difficult to disassemble set-up as possible. </li>
<li>Go to sleep. </li>
<li>Pray that it works.</li>
</ol>
</div>
</div>
<div>
Results: Inconclusive.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And everyone at NYO knows about this experiment too. In fact, whenever you arrive late to something, specifically a bus call, they sometimes call it "pulling a Nikki". No joking, I had to take a cab to a side-by-side rehearsal we did with a Russian youth orchestra because I missed the bus. And strangely enough, that was not the first time I'd woken up after the lobby call for NYO.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Today though, I finally managed to roll myself out of bed in time to go shopping at the local souvenir market in Russia. This was really a whole other experiment in itself. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've decided that bartering is the only kind of shopping that men generally like. In order to be successful at bartering, you have to genuinely not want to be spending money. Because this is how men generally function at malls, department stores, and anywhere else--except for places that sell food: that's like my mom in a Yankee Candle store. And so, before I went, I Skyped my dad to find out the secrets. He basically told me to act like he does when we take him shopping: Be extremely bored, question why anything is so expensive, and ask if there are any real practical uses for a Russian Babushka doll. My favorite answer to the last question was "how about we cut the price down 100 rubles?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And when I went out this morning, it was actually a lot of fun. It's not often that Publix employees let you haggle over the price of a banana or Macy's cashiers will take half of what is on the price tag because it's "all I have left." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Overall, I had a good time which is, really, all that matters. Because as much as I felt like I was besting the vendors, I was still probably ripped off to the same degree as if I'd clicked on one of those "FREE IPAD" links on Facebook. But I realized that even though the prices I bartered for were about as accurate as London's baby lottery is, I still consider the process of negotiating a successful experiment.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Tomorrow, NYO has our own final experiment: our last concert at the BBC Proms. After playing with the 119 other musicians for about three weeks, I know that I can trust them. I know that because we have rehearsed and performed and felt each other's energy that no matter what, tomorrow's concert will be successful. It's similar to bartering in that, maybe some notes will be missed, some deals will be lost, some negotiations won't be as smooth as they could be. But if we accomplish our potential, not as individual players, but as a functioning body, we will be able to walk away with a smile on our faces and shopping bags full of the gifts that we've earned: a hand-painted lacquered box filled with memories and friendships, a shot glass filled with the liquid energy of the music we have as young people, and a Babushka doll filled with all sizes of inspiration, from large to small.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, if you get a minute, tune in tomorrow to our concert. It'll be broadcasted live from the Proms tomorrow. Just click on this link: <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio3">http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio3</a> and click the "Listen Live" button on the left hand side of the screen. It starts at 7:30pm London time which is 2:30 Eastern Standard Time. </div>
<div>
2:30PM that is. I don't think that any amount of experimentation would be able to get me ready to play a concert at 2:30am. I think that over the years of testing, I've proved that situation to be scientifically impossible.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-48700012108897185882013-07-19T19:44:00.002-04:002013-07-20T05:36:50.648-04:00The BusI've had a pretty sheltered childhood.<br>
<br>
I'm not saying it's a bad thing. And it wasn't like we were Amish. I could use a computer, could play video games that were rated Teen, could forgo the horse and buggy as a means of transport. It was just more sheltered than some of my friends. <br>
<br>
Let me clarify. I had a lot of movies screened. Before watching the first Pirates of the Caribbean, my sister and I were required to watch the behind the scenes footage so we "would know that everything in the movie was make believe". I was twelve. Not long before that, a friend my age and I were watching Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. We'd watched the entire movie and were really sucked into the plot line. Right before the final scene, my parents shut off the movie because they had forgotten that everyone melts and didn't want us to see the below average graphics of 1981. <br>
<br>
And it wasn't just with movies. When I decided on attending Bak MSOA, which is a roughly 20 minute drive from my house if you take I-95 (and speed--which I never, ever do), my mother frantically tried to find any possible way to get me to school without taking the bus. She was terrified of me getting on a bus with a whole bunch of other kids, some of whom would be older than me. I'm not sure why. Maybe she thought buses weren't safe, or maybe that I would pick up a few new "vocabulary" terms (wink), or maybe she just thought someone would sneeze on me and I'd catch a cold and ruin my perfect attendance record. Either way, riding the bus was like trying to get a bill through the 113th Congress. <br>
<br>
So, in line with the sheltered lifestyle, one of my biggest complaints for the longest time was that I'd never been out of the country. For me, foreign cities seemed like this horrible cesspool of crime and confusion. My mom was doing me a <i>favor </i>by keeping me in the States. (Aren't kids' imaginations just wonderful?) <br>
<br>
And going on this trip I was a little nervous. I thought I'd get lost and then have no phone and then not know any numbers and have no money and just have to sit on the street and cry until someone found me and arrested me for loitering. I wouldn't even know who to make my one phone call to.<br>
<br>
So when I got to Russia, I was a bit nervous. I kept people watching and concocting these stories in my mind about how that guy walking by me on the street had a samurai sword in his bag and that he would just whip it out and chop me into a thousand pieces. Or that lady would just punch me in the ribs because I looked at her for too long. <br>
<br>
So when we were given time to sight-see, I made sure that I was in a group of three NYO people. After spending ten minutes and asking about five Russian people where we were on the map, we came to the conclusion that it may not be a good idea to venture too far away. So we decided to go to the nearby Mariinsky Theater and the newly built Mariinsky II.<br>
<br>
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Fun fact: According to critics, Mariinsky II's architecture was supposedly the ruin of St. Petersburg and defaced the beautiful city. <br>
<br>
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<br>
Yeah, what an eye sore.<br>
<br>
Since we performed in the Mariinsky II, we decided to see if we could explore the original Mariinsky theater. The three of us walked in and kind of milled about in the lobby and tried to secretly find a way in while looking as inconspicuous and not-foreign as possible. I think maybe the NYOUSA shirts may have tipped us off.<br>
<br>
After about a minute of arguing about who would have enough courage to ask the guard if we could see the theater, I drew the short straw and had to be the one to inquire. He only spoke English "a leetle beet" and I tried to be as clear and use as many unnecessary hand gestures as when I'm talking to my mom's nursing home patients.<br>
<br>
Upon my initial request to go inside, he said no. But he said it slightly hesitantly and teenagers smell weakness like shark smells blood in a fish tank. So, one of my friends brought up the fact that we were members National Youth Orchestra and we all tried to look as pathetic as possible to hopefully get an answer. With a gesture to follow him, he got up and led the three of us into a back storage room. <br>
<br>
This is where the panic set in. This was what I was sheltered from. This guy was going to beat us up in the middle of the Mariinsky theater and we were going to be stuck there and miss our concert. Aside from our black eyes, we were going to be black-listed in the music community by Gergiev. So as I braced for impact. He pointed at the three of us and said "150 rubles each, 5 minutes in theater. No photo". 150 rubles being roughly 5 US dollars, I have never spent a better amount of money in my life. He took us inside the theater and it was breathtaking. I can't even begin to describe it. And because we told him just how gorgeous it was, he let us take some pictures. Unfortunately, mine didn't come out so well, but just fill in the darkness with the most extraordinary architecture and sculpture you can think of.<br>
<br>
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<br>
The three of us were reeling. After we left, we just walked in silence and occasionally one of us would awkwardly interrupt with an "OH MY GOSH THAT WAS SO COOL!" Yes, it was.<br>
<br>
I don't think we realized until after we got back to the hotel that the 150 rubles we each had paid probably wasn't going to the Mariinsky theater. It was probably being used to buy some groceries or "apple juice" at a Russian bar. We had probably bribed a Mariinsky employee. I quite possibly committed a crime. <br>
<br>
The guard was just doing some kids a favor, so it couldn't be really illegal, right? And if I had to do it again, I'd still pay the rubles even though it might be lawfully wrong. <br>
<br>
Maybe my mom was right. If I'm committing crimes and not feeling resentment, then I probably wasn't sheltered enough. <br>
<br>
I blame the bus.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-64416410139265639732013-07-17T19:08:00.000-04:002013-07-17T19:08:15.384-04:00Nights in White SatinI love the movie Elf. I think it's really funny and cute and of course wouldn't be complete without the "holiday cheer" theme at the end that just makes everyone all warm inside. Or maybe that's just the hot chocolate in the winter. Regardless, there are a lot of inaccuracies about the film.<br />
<br />
I mean an elf traveling to New York City mainly via iceberg helped along the way by talking animals: there's definitely some issues. Everyone knows that all the polar bears would already be using the icebergs. Duh. I think the most egregious error of the film are the inaccuracies of traveling from the North Pole to NYC. It's like whoever has been to the film has never commuted from the North Pole before. Gosh, at least send the coffee intern for some R and D.<br />
<br />
First off, there has got to be some iceberg-lag (it's a thing, I asked Santa) involved in this journey. Since, the North Pole is on the Alaska Time Zone, that's a four hour difference between the two. (I didn't ask Santa for that one, I just googled it.) Elves have to sleep too. Heck, even the aurora borealis has a bedtime. <br />
<br />
The only difference between that journey and my Russia expedition is that I didn't take an iceberg: Bloomberg, our sponsor, paid for individual dolphins to carry us across the Atlantic. Oh wait, nope. That was a Sea World advertisement. But seriously, it's not that easy changing your internal clock by eight hours. I'm not totally on Russian time yet, even after three days. It took less time than that to ruin Paula Deen's career--I think I should have been adjusted. I know what the keys are to overcoming the sleep deprivation, that's not the problem. It's more like the problems I have at home. To watch another cat video on YouTube or to not watch another cat video on YouTube? #thestruggleisreal. <br />
<br />
Compounding on top of the serious sleep deprivation that should be covered in this movie is the constant sunlight in the North Pole. Especially in the summer (AKA the time of the year where the elves take off one of their six pairs of long underwear). When it's in the summer months, it's light all year round at the North Pole. <br />
<br />
And it's not that much different in Russia. They call it the White Nights of Summer. (Mom, Dad: This is not the same thing as Night in White Satin by the Moody Blues so please stop singing it out loud. I can hear the pitch problems from here.) Honestly though, there's a reason humans aren't nocturnal. It's hard to make yourself go to sleep when you could be getting a tan at midnight. In reality, all of this compounds to me writing this blog at 2:33am. Not the best life choices but I consider this a YOLO situation. <br />
<br />
Even within Russia, somethings are as different as night and day (or just day and a slightly overcast day-like environment). Traveling from Moscow to St. Petersburg via train, we got to see some of the differences between the two places. From the city hastily built around the opulent, glistening palace of the Kremlin filled with precious gems and history, to the well structured and cohesive "Venice of the North" there is quite a difference. Let me explain a bit more. Moscow is built surrounding the Kremlin but it's not exactly the most easy to understand city design. St. Petersburg has been beautifully laid out to the T with a lot of regulations on building height and color. If they were paintings, St. Petersburg would be a Van Gogh and Moscow would be a child's spin art. Both are absolutely stunning and gorgeous in their own right. Just one is structured, well put together and all the strokes work together to communicate an idea, while the other may have had a city planner who still described her age as "this many". I hope it's not too clear which one is my favorite.<br />
<br />
As we approach 3am and the sun is beginning to rise (I'm not kidding), I think it's time I get some shut eye. We have a concert tomorrow at the Mariinsky II and I've got to get up for breakfast tomorrow. Hopefully, the hotel will have all of the four main food groups: candy, candy canes, candy corn, and syrup.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-26414648969877620132013-07-16T17:18:00.002-04:002013-07-17T06:17:06.752-04:00LaBonte 2016<div class="MsoNormal">
Since, I’ve officially been in Russia now for 31 hours, I
can safely say that I’m an expert on Russian culture. I’m applying to be the ambassador and I
figure that Obama will be so blown away by my gigantic wealth of knowledge and
expertise that I’ll be Secretary of State in about a week. If everything goes as planned, I should be
unanimously voted in as president in 2016.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And because I am such a wise, generous, and above all,
humble person, I will give you a brief rundown on some aspects of the Russian
culture and how to avoid problems while in the country. Take note: all of these experiences are based
off of things I’ve seen in the past two days.
(That doesn’t mean I’ve done all of them, but I have seen other people
do them, and that’s just as good.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When going abroad, the first thing that people are usually
concerned about is their own health.
What vaccines do I need? Is the
water safe to drink? If I step in a
puddle with flip-flops on, will I contract a foot fungus that will turn me into
a frog? My personal belief on all of
these topics is “if it’s inconvenient, then…meh, you’re too lazy anyway.” For instance, I don’t like shots. I’m not being a baby, you’re the crazy one if
you actually enjoy a long needle going into your arm. So, since they make me uncomfortable, don’t
do them. You’ll be fine. On the water subject, if it’s clear(ish) and
it’s a liquid, then I’m sure you’re good.
If it’s not clear, then think of it as vitamin water and drink it
anyway. And with regard to whether or
not you’ll get a foot fungus, you probably will. But I personally believe that disease is the
most authentic souvenirs you can get. If
you’re lucky and it’s contagious, then it’s just the gift that keeps on
giving. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Unfortunately, my mom tricked me into getting the shots done
and Russian water hasn’t given me anything fatal…yet. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next topic of conversation is usually common crime in
the area and how to avoid becoming a victim.
To start with, I recommend traveling through all the back streets. They may be dark, but there are <i>way</i> less people around and so,
logically, you have less of a chance of getting pickpocketed. If for some reason, you can’t just take the
backstreets then be sure to put on your Mickey Mouse cap, wear your American
flag shorts (face paint is optional) and take pictures of everything, even
those puddles of water that you are stepping in. The object is for everyone to know that you
are a tourist from America. That way, if
they steal from you, the CIA will launch a counterterrorism investigation on
the entire country and maybe in a couple weeks we will get to a full-scale
war. Or at least that’ll be the goal
when I’m president. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been pretty good with this one. Taking lots of people, speaking English as
loud as possible, I’ve got it down. And
so far so good, nothing stolen so far. It’s
not luck, it’s skill.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thirdly, people
usually ask about money. Where to
exchange it, where to carry it, etc. I
recommend first trying to pay for everything in American dollars. You’re the customer so you’re always
right. If they don’t take the currency,
try talking louder and slower; that always helps the situation. If that doesn’t work, whip out your wallet
that’s overflowing with large bills and completely unorganized. If something falls out (which it probably
will), just drop everything and ask everyone in the store to help you pick it
up. Also, always argue over prices. Numbers are totally different in different
countries, so if something works according to English math, they are probably
ripping you off. Remember, these are all
based off of real experiences.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br>
<br>
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Addressing concert etiquette is fairly simple: when in Rome, do as the Romans. But you aren’t in Rome, silly. You’re in Russia, so just follow the Russians. There
are a couple mannerisms you should be aware of.
Firstly, take your seats as late as possible. Again, you’re the audience, the orchestra
will wait for you. And we did. Thanks for that. But once the audience is seated, they are
actually really quiet. As much as we really appreciate the harmonics
that babies crying brings to the music, we don’t actually enjoy it all that
much. Surprise. Also, if you happen to be in charge of
temperature, always turn the A/C off all the way, musicians hate it when they
are comfortable when we play and love the fact that we can’t fan ourselves like
the people in the audience. Overall, I
think the coolest part of a Russian audience is that they don’t stand if they
like a performance (No, I’m not being
conceited in assuming that they would stand for our performance.) Instead of standing, Russian audiences clap…in
rhythm. They all begin clapping on beat
and the whole concert hall claps together.
It is so cool. And so exciting
and energetic. It’s kind of like those
elementary school cheers that you do while you’re jumping rope. I even made one up: <o:p></o:p><br>
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We’re NYO. (Yeah). <br>
We’re pretty cool. (Yeah) <br>
Gergiev conducts us. (Yeah)<br>
And he’s no fool. <o:p></o:p><br>
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, we’re in Russia. (Yeah)<br>
And that’s so fun. (Yeah) <br>
You clap in time. (Yeah) <br>
Right when we’re done.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Booyah.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So that’s really all you need to know about Russia. I think if you follow all of those steps, you’ll
be successful…to a certain degree. If
you don’t think you’ll be able to travel in the future, then that’s too
bad. It’s really very nice here. (That was maybe the only sentence in this
blog post without sarcasm) If you are
really out of things to do (cough loser), you could make some “LaBonte 2016” campaign
posters. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br>
I’m thinking the slogan should be “She’s a teenager, of course she knows everything about running the country. Duh.”</div>
<br>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-63786341589898720832013-07-15T17:15:00.002-04:002013-07-15T17:15:55.013-04:00Inside Scoop<div class="MsoNormal">
I am writing this post from the future. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve concluded that since I am now in Russia and eight hours
ahead of the US, I can effectively see into the future and can ruin all of your
good TV shows for you. Watch, I’ll show
you just how ahead of the game I am by telling you an inside scoop that only
someone from the future would know: George Zimmerman is found not guilty. Mind blown.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because I am a teenager after all, I woke up after breakfast
and instead had a brunch of a Chipotle burrito (the real breakfast of
Champions). And after hurriedly packing
up and hoping that I didn’t forget anything (after all, there is a first time
for everything…I wish), we met the NYO group downstairs. I
managed to avoid an incident that included almost leaving my travel documents
in the hotel bathroom (I don’t think it counts because I remembered them before
the bus pulled out) and we began the “adventure” of group travel. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Warfare has been described as a series of brief bursts of
action followed by extremely extensive periods of boredom. It is the same thing when traveling with a
large group. Think the No Child Left Behind
Act, but in an airport. So we waited
first to get our boarding passes, then to go through security, then to transfer
to our terminal, then to get on the plane.
All in all, it was a total waiting time of three and a half hours. I’ve decided that this experience is what
purgatory feels like. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because it was my first international flight, there were a
few things that I learned that I would like to share with you. First:
If you are flying on British airways, everyone speaks with an English
accent. Don’t laugh, it wasn’t that
obvious from my point of view. Secondly,
chefs who prepare plane food should be given their own food chain. No joking, the pasta I had on the plane could
have gotten past a round of Top Chef and was made with half the resources than
the mystery meat served in a full-size school cafeteria. I’m not sure which was the greater miracle:
the ability to speed through the air in a giant mass of metal or the flavor in
that preserved pasta. Thirdly, planes
are the reasons that Blockbuster went out of business. Why rent a DVD when you could watch unlimited
movies on an airplane? And it’s free…or
it comes with the purchase of an international flight ticket. On second thought, maybe Netfix was the
reason. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I must have used up all the bad plane karma on the way to
Purchase because all of our connecting flights were on time and in a way, it
was a tad uneventful. Oh well, better
luck next time. But, we had finally
arrived in Russia. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And oh was it confusing.
After stepping off the plane, I realized that this is what babies feel
like. Russian characters mean nothing,
no one is saying anything you can understand, and the people surrounding you
all of a sudden seem very big and scary.
I barely managed to avoid going to the fetal position in the middle of
the airport, because I figured it wouldn’t help my status with the
Russians. Our group moved to the customs
counter where they would inspect our passports.
Despite the reports of earlier people who had gone, I wasn’t asked any
questions and instead just slid my passport under the window to the woman
behind it. I was excited because so far
I hadn’t proven I was a total clumsy tourist.
That lasted for about ten seconds.
As I was retrieving the passport and visa confirmation form, my hand
flicked the passport at a surprisingly high speed right back onto the keyboard
of the customs officer. And by her
reaction, I’m fairly certain that the Russian police, KGB, and Olympic Gymnastics
team were on their way to tackle me before the woman realized that I wasn’t
trying to throw a weapon of mass destruction at her. So instead, I sheepishly apologized (in
English) and tried to make my way through the gate. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Having successfully perpetuating the dumb American
stereotype, we made our way to the buses to wait for the strings to clear
customs. I’m not entirely sure why they
had to declare their instruments and we did not, but I took this as another
factor to add to my extensive list of reasons not to play the violin. And after another hour and a half of spider
solitaire on the bus, the rest of the group arrived and we drove into the
city. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve watched the Amazing Race for awhile and always wondered
why it was so hard to follow a map and navigate somewhere. Like what’s so hard about directions? You know, maybe it’s the fact that the
English alphabet has been distorted, rotated, and combined to form new letters
and sounds on the street signs. It gets
better. The H letter, instead of
maintaining some level of consistency, makes the sound of an N. My name in Russian? HPKKP.
Yeah, now try to figure out how to navigate the highways to Moscow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But when we finally did get to Moscow, someone must have
forgot to tell Russia that buildings aren’t supposed to be gorgeous and instead
should be designed with functionality and uniformity in mind. And in our walk around Red Square, we all
gaped like the stereotypical Japanese tourists in New York City. We had everything, matching NYO T-shirts,
cameras, and a complete disregard for the fact that people may or may not be living
in the city that we were gawking at. And
when the church of St. Basil came into view, it seemed like something out of
Candyland or one of those cheesy animated movies from the same people who
created the Rudoph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Christmas special. It would have seemed surreal and
fantasy-like, had there not have been a McDonalds (although it was cleverly
disguised by the Russian alphabet). It
was certainly a nice start to my first night in Europe.</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, it is certainly cool to be living in the future. There aren’t any flying cars yet, but I’d say
the architecture makes up for the hover planes and daily space travel. So, I assume by now you’d like to run and
tell all of your friends on Facebook about your inside information on the
George Zimmerman case. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll
tell you in advance what the Royal Baby’s name is.<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-31816979955502490202013-07-14T15:07:00.000-04:002013-07-15T17:18:27.760-04:00Thank You.<div class="MsoNormal">
I will ask for your forgiveness in advance, for this blog
won’t be as humorous as you may be used to.
Not to fear, the happy-go-lucky, comic tone will be back tomorrow. So, if what follows isn’t your cup of tea,
then feel free to click away and there will be a new post up soon.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday will be a
day that I remember for the rest of my life.
No matter the mountain-top highs I reach and no matter the dark alleys I
find myself stumbling into, this day can never be eradicated from my
memory. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday, we performed in the breathtakingly gorgeous and
completely sold out John F. Kennedy Center in Washington D.C. We,
the National Youth Orchestra of the USA, were the sole responsibility for this
gigantic gathering of people from all walks of life. All of these people, carefully taking their
seats in the Kennedy Center, had in some way heard about this group of talented
young people and for some reason had
chosen to investigate just what was so peculiar about us. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To me, this is spectacular in itself and truly, this
occurrence is its own miracle. Each time
a concert is performed, every audience member opens themselves up to the performer
or performers. They can do this knowingly
or unknowingly, it does not matter which.
Every person in the theater willingly carries their flaws with them. It’s frightening to realize that social
standing, financial status, or even outward demeanor is no longer available to
hide behind when immersed in music. And
I believe that this fear is the main detractor from attendance at classical
concerts. It takes courage to open
yourself up to the musicians before you and for many, this fear can be hard to
overcome. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But yesterday in the Kennedy center, the audience had accepted
their vulnerability and asked the onstage strangers to assist them. They ask the performers to carry on the
baggage from their life’s journey and replace the luggage with the emotions
that will be delivered through our instruments.
It is a massive and yet wholly personal and confidential transplant of
experiences and memories. This is what
happens every single time that people gather to hear music. It is
a daily miracle and I can only hope it is viewed this way by all who
participate in the processes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, as the guests arrived in the Kennedy Center, I felt
their energy and anticipation. For some
reason, be it family ties, a review found in a newspaper, or a
strategically-placed, eye-catching sign, they had chosen to walk into the
hall. And as the artists of the National
Youth Orchestra, it became our responsibility to reveal to them our gratitude,
our sympathies, and our love. And we
did. In the scope of our lives, this concert
took place in just one breath. But in
that one breath, we were their oxygen, their morphine, their medication. We became Shostakovich’s message in a bottle. We fortified our sound with bricks taken from
the Berlin Wall, we found expression, pain, and confusion in the death of
Stalin, and we bathed in a rich cultural heritage that was not our own. This was what we delivered to the people of
the Kennedy Center. And though history
may have dated the work long before many of us were even conceived, emotions like
these will always be universal. The
woman sitting three rows back doesn’t find herself free from the terror of
communism. But instead, she may find
herself bewildered and confused after the passing of an abusive husband. A man in the left mezzanine level, is not separated
from his parents by the Iron Curtain but by the mere fabric of time and
circumstance, which is an equally impenetrable barrier. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And music will not solve their problems. There are limitations to what music can
do. Music cannot change the past. Music cannot stop a bullet. Music cannot bring back a loved one. But, music is the company you keep. Music can sympathize. Music can comfort. Music can listen. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think it was six times.
Six times Valery Gergiev came out on the stage. Six times we bowed. But before all of that--before the applause
began, something much more profound and meaningful happened. Immediately after the last echo resonated
around the hall, there was an exhale.
The air that had just resonated with sound waves and filled the inside
of the audience, now found itself clinging to the last chord. But this widespread exhale means that the
comfort we gave, the feelings we presented, the oxygen we transmitted had been
absorbed into the blood stream of the audience.
This gasp was not a return of what we had given, it was a relinquishing
of what they had brought. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m sure the Kennedy Center air reeks from the emotions of
the audience. It reeks of pain, deceit,
and maybe even reeks of joy. But, outside,
the atmosphere is marginally cleaner and echoes of our sound still resonate in
the air around those who attended the concert.
This has always been my goal for music.
And because of tonight’s
experience, I know that this feeling can sustain me until I can no longer
breath the emotions of others. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
As much as our music has done for those who attended the
July 13<sup>th</sup> concert at the Kennedy Center, it has accomplished so much
more in the life of at least one musician who performed. To those in the audience, I want to thank
you. May we never forget the exchange of
life and love that occurred today and the many more that we will be a part of
in the future.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-60301327674652679152013-07-13T09:17:00.002-04:002013-07-13T10:09:46.582-04:00First Time's a Charm?First impressions....yeurgh.<br>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
Like anyone who doesn't live entirely in the World of Warcraft, I have had my share of them and I've noticed a trend: very rarely is there a middle ground on first impressions. They are either very good or very bad, a heads or tails kind of thing. There have been many times in my life where I feel like the quarter I am flipping is one of those plastic tacky magicians quarter's you find in a Happy Meal: both sides are tails and you can't even pull off the magic trick that can save you. However, there have also been times where first impressions are a breeze: people tend to like you more if your parents pay them to act friendly. </div>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
Given my invaluable and highly varied experience, I've discovered that there are a few keys to making a good first impression. First, avoid any personal information on the first sentence. If you're a vampire, try to save that at least until the second interaction. Your desire to drink the blood of other people will be a great conversation starter <i>after</i> you've discussed the weather patterns of the week. Second, brush your teeth. Especially after eating foods like mushrooms, onions, or garlic. The only exception to this rule is the scenario mentioned previously. When you find out your friend is a direct relative to Edward Cullen, garlic breath is less of a setback. </div>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
Thirdly and most importantly, dress appropriately. I know that many people have pet peeves of pens clicking or cracking your knuckles or other sounds that can be overreacted to, but mine is by far when people don't follow the rules of getting dressed. If music wasn't possible, I'm hoping to be nominated as the next squad leader for the fashion police.</div>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
I think the reason that it may be so infuriating to me is because it's not that hard. I'm not asking for a 1000 word essay on Louis Vuitton or for you to design your own wedding dress line or even for you to be a finalist on America's Next Top Model. I'm just asking for you to make sure that you don't wear two types of plaid in the some outfit. The goal is just to not stick out. You really don't want to be that guy wearing the hideous Christmas sweater to your important meeting. That only counts as business casual if you are actually Santa Claus.</div>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
And not to worry, we NYO members have got this aspect in the bag. If there's one thing musicians know how to do other than seal ourselves off from society for hours to practice, it's looking good (oh yeah). We aren't quite to the Baywatch level yet but we are definitely keeping up in the dressing department--even when we aren't in our concert uniforms.</div>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
But for some reason, this all still feels a little out of place to me. Attending a State Department Briefing at the Department of the Interior, for instance. It seems just a tad odd to be hearing about being a cultural ambassador and talking to members of the Russian Youth Orchestra about America. I mean, I don't think I'll be able to ask for directions to the nearest restroom, let alone be able to tell them what is culturally significant about my country. Having our concert reviewed by the New York Times (<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/07/13/arts/music/national-youth-orchestra-takes-purchase-washington-is-next.html">http://www.nytimes.com/2013/07/13/arts/music/national-youth-orchestra-takes-purchase-washington-is-next.html</a>)? Are you kidding? I can barely get people to come to my concerts, let alone give me their feedback on something other than the fact that us "kids are just so darn adorable in our penguin suits and dresses". And being invited to the Russian Embassy for a reception from the ambassador himself? I don't think I've ever been personally invited to a dinner party before, and now I'm eating at the same buffet table with Russian dignitaries? It's total luck that I managed to avoid embarrassing myself through a clumsy episode involving tripping, food, His Excellency, a great deal of napkins and a lot of diplomatic apologizing. </div>
<div>
<br></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Being under the baton (it's more the size of a toothpick really) of Valery Gergiev, getting to play at the Kennedy Center, performing with Joshua Bell. I keep wondering if maybe they've got the wrong person. Somehow, they meant to send the letter to a street in Pennsylvania or South Dakota or something. Any day now, someone will pull me aside and tell me "Hey, we are real sorry but it turns out that we messed up and picked the wrong person. The other girl is on her way here now so if you could just pretend you were never in NYO, that'd be great. Sorry, it's not you, it's us. Well actually, it's you." It's cool, I would totally understand. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But for some unknown reason, they picked me. They picked all of us. And I don't really know if anyone can really deserve this opportunity. We've all worked so hard in a practice room, out of a practice room, in the concert hall, but this is just so much more than I could have ever dreamed of. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But, when life gives you lemons (even if it stole them from some little girl's stand down the street) you make lemonade. And since NYO hasnt caught on to their mistake yet, I will definitely be taking advantage of it. There may be one problem though: my parents haven't exactly been able to bribe the Russian Youth Orchestra members into liking me and I don't think I can rely on my humor to get me through. (I'm currently working on ways to be funny using only traditional Russian greetings.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Worst case scenario, I suppose I could tell them that I'm a vampire. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Scratch that. On second thought, I'd probably be better off if I wore two types of plaid.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-85068174866460913412013-07-12T03:17:00.004-04:002013-07-12T03:17:46.441-04:00Natural Selection<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes, I wonder what God was thinking. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s not all the time, but I feel like some phenomena of
life definitely need questioning. For
instance, what is really the point of mosquitoes? Why did flightless penguins have to be the
rejects of the illustrious bird community?
And did light skin and the sun <i>really</i>
seem like a good combination at the time? You might as well have just established a
permanent burning sensation to save the sun the effort of personally scorching
us.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, I know that Bill Nye the Science Guy would probably
jump in right now to say something logical about the fact that each of these
occurrences has a biological reason…yada yada…food chain…yada yada…ecosystem…yada yada…world
peace. Thanks Ms. America. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But really, what on earth do mosquitoes have to do with the
food chain? Could we really not live without
a universal annoying little sister in the animal kingdom? (Sorry Dani.) Would that have been that
catastrophic? I think not. And would it have really been so difficult to
put a little more muscle in penguin wings?
Orcas don’t need the flightless bird target practice. They already have a movie star in Free Willy and
a living legend in Shamu. I don’t think
they should get any more help than that.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Most recently, though, I’ve been wondering about nerves and
why on Earth they trigger these outlandish responses in our system. I understand how it would be useful if we
were swimming frantically away from a Great White shark and his friends or
being attacked by a stampede of wildebeest in an African canyon. But was human existence really just supposed
to be a series of action scenes from Disney movies? I really hope not. Because other than those situations, I haven’t
exactly found a spot where racing heartbeat, extreme amounts of sweat, thought
overload, and hand tremors really come in handy. Maybe I’m just not thinking hard enough--Oh wait, I know. If you were trying to write a
stream-of-consciousness paper on top of a seismograph in a very cold room while
also attempting to provide the bass rhythm for a drum circle through a
microphone attached to your chest. Yep,
that’s the one. For sure.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Other than that situation, I fear that I can’t seem to come
up with any situation where it’s not a hindrance: physical activities, mental challenges, and
especially when playing an instrument.
Oy vey. Everyone gets nerves, (even
the assistant principle oboist of the New York Philharmonic—yay for musician
secrets) and everyone also has their own way of dealing with them. There are medications, dietary plans, mental
concentration exercises; Or you could try my personal method of looking like a
fool whilst running around the house 10 times, followed by 20 pushups, 15
jumping jacks and then attempting to sit down and gather your thoughts and your
stomach for long enough to pop out the horn solo.
I think it’s effective (and embarrassing).<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, with our first concert fast approaching, I hope I don’t
speak only for myself when I say that there was definitely some nervous energy
involved in our preparations. And unlike
the lint I managed to roll off of my black blazer before going onstage, the
nerves decided to follow me right into the Performing Arts Center.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But when we played our first note of Sean Shepherd’s Magiya
(meaning magic in Russian), the nerves kind of dissipated. Everything felt like it kind of locked
in. And now that I think about it, I may
have a bit of a hypothesis. (Although
it could just be like one of those late night physics papers that I write—full of
BS with a sprinkle of science. Please
bear with me.) I feel like when we hear
everyone around us, we come to the realization that we aren’t playing by
ourselves anymore. This may seem obvious
to some. But the reality is that it’s no
longer about Nikki LaBonte vs. the world (the next Bravo TV show anyone?). Instead, we realize that we aren’t alone
because there is an entire team surrounding and supporting us, mentally and
physically with their spirit and sound. The fear of missing a note or playing
something out of tune goes away as you work <i>not</i>
towards the unattainable individual perfection, but instead the collective
artistic goal of the ensemble. I
suppose this is the real magic of music-making. But it’s also a magic that doesn’t stop with
an orchestra. The audience members are a
part of the support staff encouraging you to finish the race. The outstanding Carnegie Hall staff are behind-the-scenes working to
help make the assist. Even the
lady at the cash register checking you out with late night snacks at the highway rest stop is your teammate. Everyone can be on your
team. Everyone can make a
contribution. You just have to pick them
first.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And it was this gigantic surge of cooperation,
collaboration, and coordination that made our first concert at Purchase College
an overwhelming success. As we finished
the last note of the Shostakovich Symphony 10, we sighed a collective breath and were
greeted in our efforts by our supporters in the audience with a profound and
meaningful standing ovation. I
can’t help but think, as we drive now to Washington D.C., that all the
members of NYO have come to realize what an <i>all-star</i> group we have here (have
you seen our sneakers?). <o:p></o:p></div>
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Ultimately, we just can’t wait for everyone else to join the
squad. </div>
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Except for the orcas and mosquitoes. We'll get along just fine without them.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-18711615342280750702013-07-11T10:53:00.002-04:002013-07-11T15:57:31.429-04:00Handicap SpotI have a tough time trusting people.<br>
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I know that Sigmund Freud may be analyzing me after that sentence, looking at the rest of my blog posts, diary entries from when I was a kid, and probably determining that I have a severe emotional disability and shouldn't be able to function in public places without two certified guide dogs. And I'm fine with this as long as I get to use the handicap spot in parking lots. Sadly enough, he's dead and I'm stuck contemplating whether or not I could sneak into the expecting mothers' spot without a cop catching me as I'm running out of my car. Truth be told, I think the reason is really because I've been let down so many times. Literally.</div>
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I'm not sure where I first heard of it, but I've recently been informed that it originated on Tosh.0. But, I'm just going to pretend that I don't know what that is and take credit anyway. It's called trust falling, which sounds pretty standard and the original version is probably not from Tosh.0 but from some crazy RA in college who had already run out of things to do during the orientation week icebreaker activities. I'll explain in case you don't know. With someone standing behind you, you let yourself just fall backward and hope that you can trust them or that they don't have a back injury from a previous failed trust fall. However, in my variation, you don't <i>have </i>to tell the person that you are trust-falling. I could make up some team-building reason for this by saying that sometimes, you have to trust people without them knowing the full impact of the situation they are in, but it's really just because I think it's a little more exciting without a warning. The people I'm falling into don't seem to think so.</div>
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I usually get two reactions when performing this stunt. If this is the first time I've done it, I usually get a surprised diving catch to the floor that in some cases may make the ESPN top ten plays of the day. However, if it's been done to this person before, I'm usually side-stepped as I fall to the ground and on one instance in particular, was aided in my descent with a well delivered push. People are just so cruel.</div>
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So, Sigmund Freud, I think it might be pretty obvious why I have difficulties trusting people. If I can't trust them in a surprise trust fall that they may or may not be aware of before it's too late, then how can I trust them to do anything? (If you are questioning my reasoning, please consider the fact that I should be diagnosed with an emotional handicap). And luckily, trust happened to be the theme today for NYO.</div>
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Starting with a meeting about the tour details and what not do while in Russia, I received some good news. After we go through customs in each country, we will be giving our passports back to our RA's for them to keep safe. That means that it is almost impossible to lose my passport!! Although, my mother would probably stress that <i>almost </i>is the key word in that sentence. She'd probably cite the time that I lost my ticket to Disney World in the period of time between receiving it at the ticket window and the entrance to the park. I still hold onto the fact that I was maybe 6 years old and could not be held responsible for carrying a piece of paper when I could barely color inside the lines.</div>
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But ultimately this passport thing means that I'll have to trust someone else and we've already discussed the repercussions of that. Trying to look on the bright side though, if our RA does lose our passports, at least I'll have some friends to hang with in Russia once we get stuck there. </div>
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Continuing, today was the day where we got to try on our concert clothes for the first time together as an orchestra. I have to be honest and say that I was a little hesitant when they sent out the first sketch of the uniforms. As much as I love watching the Olympics, I thought we might look a tad like the USA Olympic orchestra team during the parade of nations (if only there was an orchestra team). But, since fashion isn't exactly my specialty, (don't be too surprised) I decided that the people designing the outfits may know what they are talking about more than I do. After all, it did take my mom a great deal of convincing to tell me that just because your shirt and pants match in color, doesn't mean they match in fashion. </div>
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I have to say I think we look pretty cool. I mean we are orchestra kids so we are already the definition of cool, but I think that now we can finally look like the way we are on the inside: non-traditional yet classy with a sprinkle of funky fresh. </div>
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And finally we had rehearsals with Joshua Bell and Valery Gergiev. Again, trust came into play when I was confronted with the earlier dilemma of will Gergiev show up? But, because he was late, Joshua Bell actually ran the first fifteen minutes of rehearsal and although I don't exactly play in the first phrase it was still mind-blowing. When Gergiev finally did arrive, he just told us bluntly "I'm sorry, I just couldn't get up." It was 2:30pm. We have so much in common. </div>
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Periodically, that trust thing came into play. Gergiev or Joshua Bell would make some comment to the orchestra asking us to fix the smallest detail or change just one thing about the way we played. Are you kidding? There's no way that will make a difference, no one is going to notice that except for you and maybe the lady with the bionic hearing implant in the front row. I mean this is probably such a--woah. Is that even the same passage that they just played? That's like a totally different concept. Why didn't you say that sooner?! </div>
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Every nuance was touched upon and carefully analyzed and directed. As an orchestra we turned all of our knowledge about how the piece should be played over to Gergiev and Bell and they directed us all to the same page. And just like that, the music we were playing came to take on a clear and particular artistic shape that was meticulously sculpted by Maestro Gergiev and Joshua Bell. And despite all that we have in common, I think they are better sculptors than I am.</div>
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I'm beginning to think that maybe I should begin to trust people a bit more. Especially those who are clearly experts in their field. Although, I think maybe I could work on trusting those who aren't labelled as experts in their field. Despite the fact that, as a teenager, I have been given the keys to universal knowledge, I don't know <i>everything </i>(yet)<i> </i>and these people might be able to help me out with that<i>. </i>Even though it may cost me a few additional head and back injuries, I'll try to believe that a great deal of people will catch me before I hit the ground. </div>
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Worst case scenario, I get a choice parking spot.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-87439690008982167342013-07-10T10:11:00.000-04:002013-07-10T10:11:14.692-04:00Punk'dWhen I first found out that I'd been accepted to NYO, I hadn't really done a lot of research. Actually about as much research as I'd done on my eighth grade bridge project. I won honorable mention. Fourth out of four. So really, I did no research. None. The only thing I knew about NYO were the audition requirements and the dates I needed to turn everything in. And the reason I was even able to get them in on time was because I forgot the dates and instead planned for them to be a week earlier. I call it procrastinating in advance.<br />
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When I did find out about it though, I tried to look it up the best I could. But, It was kind of like trying to find out information about the United States' NSA plans. It's almost imposs--oh wait...Well it's like trying to find out information about the NSA without Edward Snowden. That's a better description. Since it's the inaugural year, no one knows anything about it. No photos, no fun stories, no reviews on Yelp. Nothing. And it was kind of hard to explain to family and friends. All I really knew were the faculty who would be coaching. But to my family who associated Beethoven with the dog more often than the composer, this had no significance. They probably would have been more impressed if I told them that the horn coaches Lady Gaga and Beyonce would be working with us side-by-side under the direction of Oprah Winfrey. <br />
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So, when I presented my uncle with this complete lack of information, he thought it was some gigantic April Fools joke. We were gonna all pay for plane tickets and arrive to a giant PUNK'D banner in front of the dorms. We would be the laughing stock of the nation. <br />
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I cannot tell you how glad I was that when I pulled into the Purchase College campus. There were no banners in sight. I anxiously checked behind every corner just waiting to find a film crew to catch all 120 orchestra kids crying because they'd been duped. If it had been a joke, at least it would have made quality television. But there was no camera crew and I begin to think that this was a real thing.<br />
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But all those fears were rekindled when preparing for Valery Gergiev to arrive. It'd been something that everyone had been talking about for the past week. What he would think of the orchestra, how he would conduct, how cool his accent would be. We were really excited. And when we arrived at rehearsal, there were all sorts of things commemorating the occasion: film crews, more people in the audience than usual, an insane amount of sweat coming from all the staff. And so we waited. And waited. Rehearsal was supposed to start at 2:30pm. And I watched the minutes creep by. 2:31. Maybe he is talking to his old friends backstage and needs a minute to finish his conversation. 2:32. He probably dropped a pencil or something and needed someone else to pick it up for him. 2:33. He might have gotten lost on campus and could just be looking for the right door to go through. 2:34. You know what, he probably had to stop for gas on the way here and that's why he's late. 2:35. It's probably just the effects of jetlag from the US to Russia. 2:36. Maybe he locked his keys in the car and AAA is on the way right now. <br />
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By 2:37, I was starting to take the hint. This was the big joke. He wasn't coming. That's why all the film crews were here. Instead of Valery Gergiev, someone in a clown suit was gonna come bursting out, balloon animals in tow, squirting us with his fake flower and the cameras would turn to face the orchestra as we all sat flabbergasted for about five seconds while we realized that we were the victims of the Carnegie Hall's most elaborate hoax ever. Oh, this must be priceless to my uncle at home. I'll never be able to live this down.<br />
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And just as I was preparing to cast my horn across the room to distract the cameras from the distraught look on my face, Gergiev walked in. And the orchestra members, almost as if they were all thinking the same thing I was, collectively let out a gasp and started to clap. And with a quick introduction from Clive Gillinson, we got straight to rehearsing. <br />
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It was incredible. He wasn't a man of many words but every word he said was important. Unlike a lot of my textbooks, you couldn't just pick up on every third word and understand the majority of American History. We were all completely focused and because of our preparation throughout the week were able to make all the small adjustments he asked. And I was completely blown away by them. He would ask for one small minute thing and it would completely change the character of the piece. Just by asking for longer notes, he would double the <i>support</i> given by the orchestra to the melody and everything seemed capable of sustaining the profound depth and <i>weight</i> of the music we were playing. Now that I think of it, maybe I should have asked Gergiev for help on my bridge project. <br />
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So, I'm definitely looking forward to all the time we have to spend with him. I'll still probably be counting the minutes but hopefully for a different reason this time. But, don't think I'm not onto you, NYO. I know this must be a giant prank. And I'll be ready. I'll be checking behind every door in Russia just to be sure that I don't run into some giant painted canvas announcing that this isn't real and we are just on the set of some elaborate movie scene in California. Nothing will get by me, NYO. In fact, I'm already prepared.<br />
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смущенными. That's how you say embarrassed in Russian.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-78820874196806979882013-07-09T00:25:00.005-04:002013-07-09T08:32:47.437-04:00StereotypesYou know that scene in Finding Nemo where the other fish ask Marlin to tell them a joke because he's a clownfish and supposed to be funny? He can't remember how the joke goes and kind of fumbles around for a minute while the fish realize that the only thing funny about him is his color pattern. Story of my life.<br />
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I'm not really good at the stereotypical joke. The only knock knock joke I know is the "orange" one and that's so overdone, the joke isn't as funny as the fact that I'm still trying to use it. When it gets to the joke-telling point of the party, I usually excuse myself to use the restroom and let the rest of the guests think that I have irregular bowel movements while I play Angry Birds in a stall. That's the real joke.</div>
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But there is one exception, I know a lot of music jokes. A lot of music jokes. I know a ton of music puns (although I have had to take <i>notes </i>on some of them), can manipulate the composers names to an almost unrecognizable degree (mosquitoes that buzz in tune can sometimes give you a bad case of Mahler-ia), and I know the method, time, equipment, and number of every instrumentalist needed to screw in a lightbulb.</div>
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I think my favorite kind of jokes would have to be conductor jokes. They are the pinnacle of musician jokes. Quite honestly, it's a bit unfair to the conductor. At least with different instruments, there's a community with some people who can maybe stand up for you. Conductors though are like the Rosa Parks against the entire New York Subway system. You see, with conductors there's this egotistical, self-praising stereotype that surrounds them. And oh, is it comic gold. Tell me, what's the difference between God and a conductor? God knows He's not a conductor. Hehe, good stuff.</div>
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The sad thing is that our orchestra director, James Ross, who is preparing us before Valery Gergiev arrives, doesn't fit this stereotype. You can't make the jokes if they aren't at least partially based on real life. It's really rough.</div>
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He has played a gigantic part in making NYO a wonderful experience for me. His conducting is clear and easy to follow but he's so expressive in his movements. Really, if you watch him even half as closely as all of England is watching Kate's pregnancy, you will get everything you need to know from his conducting. </div>
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And that's not even the part that makes him a great conductor. He's so invested in us as a group of young adults and so ready to answer our questions and get to know us, as people and as musicians. The first thing he said to me after I introduced myself was that he "remembered my audition video." What?!? Flabbergasted, I stopped myself from saying "you too" because I doubt he'd have made an audition video and even if he had, I don't think he would have believed that I had the authority to watch it. Not sure why. All I could muster as a response was, "Um...thanks." What I'd meant to say is "can we be friends forever?" But, I'm kind of glad I didn't blurt that out right away.</div>
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Throughout the week, he was given the task of getting 120 kids to take their own musical opinions and blend them into one idea. It's a miracle to get two teenagers to agree on a fast food restaurant for lunch. This undertaking should be the premise of the next James Bond movie. But here's the real catch, the musical idea that he was trying to get us to agree on, he doesn't even know it yet. Since he won't be our tour conductor, he has to prepare us for Valery Gergiev's idea of the program, not his own. If Maestro Ross had been the stereotypical conductor I mentioned before, there was no way this could work. How do you prepare for the unexpected if you can't telepathically communicate with the conductor that will be taking over. But, somehow he did it. Not only has our improvement as an orchestra been exponential, but it's been strategically exponential. We aren't reliant on him and instead have decided that if we want to stay with the conductor, then we have to stay together first. We tried different tempos, different conducting styles, and at the full concert run through we did today on our last rehearsal together, I think we could all hear how much it paid off. </div>
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On the first day, he pronounced himself as our "surrogate daddy" and today revisited this by saying that like every good parent he has to "let us fly" out of the nest. And I know that it may have been his goal to make us independent and flexible so that when Gergiev arrives, we could continue to make leaps and bounds in our progress, but I think that he might have failed a little bit. Because as much as I am looking forward to the experience and tour ahead of us with Gergiev and Joshua Bell, I can't help but think that I'll continue to take a glance every now and then back to our time with James Ross. So, I think that could be considered failing in a good way.</div>
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Because of all the fun I've had this week, I looked him up and read his biography. Turns out, he's not just a conductor, but was a solo horn player with the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra while studying with Kurt Masur.</div>
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It all makes sense now. </div>
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He's a horn player. That's why he's so awesome.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-43379558981636978972013-07-08T00:28:00.002-04:002013-07-08T08:43:07.634-04:00The AvengersFor living less than fifteen minutes away from Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods, and Celine Dion, you would think that I would have had more accidental run-ins with celebrities. Granted, they only live fifteen minutes away if you can avoid the top screening security inspection by their private armies or have enough co-op equipment to effectively track down Osama Bin Laden's removed wisdom teeth. Seeing as I don't have either of these, I haven't really had many celebrity encounters. No spontaneous Justin Beiber concerts. Not even a George Clooney sighting in Whole Foods. I think the closest thing I've gotten was this girl who kind of looked like Russell Brand from the back end. <br />
<br />
So today, I was starstruck. <br />
<br />
The orchestra took a day trip to New York City as a break from the crazy schedule of the week. We started off at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which I had never been to. And strangely enough, one of the exhibits the Met, or MMA as I like to call it (yes, I know those are the same initials as Mixed Martial Arts, it makes it sound less dweebish), is the instruments display. <br />
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Wait a second, NYO, did you set this up? How did you know I liked classical instruments? Is this some kind of crazy mind-reading ploy? Are you a part of that whole government surveillance thing? I mean, honestly, how else could they have known that I played the horn?</div>
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Following the museum, we went to a New York Philharmonic concert conducted by Bramwell Tovey. Don't you just hate it when you go to a classical music concert and the conductor is hilarious and breaks down the stereotype of stuffy and pretentious concerts? Cause I sure do. There were some witty remarks made about the British Wimbledon Victory and even some sarcastic comments to the latecomers walking in after the second number. Gosh, it was just too much fun and too much laughter for a snobby classical music concert. </div>
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Aside from the horribly lighthearted atmosphere, the performance was mindblowing. The main work on the program was the Planets by Gustav Holst. I don't know if I can actually describe the gigantic amount of power that this orchestra has in their sound, but it was truly awesome. I'm trying to find a way to relate how exciting this is to me (see that engaging with audiences class is really paying off). Think about it this way: The Avengers show up at your door and after Robert Downey Jr. makes a few corny puns, the group decides to take you along with them on their crazy crime bashing raid. The Hulk steps on some bad guys while Thor and Captain America play a rousing game of monkey-in-the-middle using Captain America's lethal shield (Hint: it's not a good thing to be in the middle of that game.) Meanwhile, Iron Man is making a rousing commentary while mimicking the voice of Latin-American soccer announcers. That's what this New York Philharmonic concert was like. They are my heroes.</div>
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But it gets even better. After the concert, we were given the opportunity to have a meet and greet with three of the NY Phil's members and their personnel manager. Although there wasn't a horn player, Nancy Allen, the principal harpist, was there. All of that crime fighting stuff may have been cool, but meeting Nancy Allen was like arm-wrestling with the Hulk or quizzing Captain America on state capitals. I really hope that she didn't think I was weird because of how close I was to fainting out of excitement.</div>
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NYO was finally able to pull me away, kicking and screaming (because I bet Nancy Allen didn't think that was weird at all) and we went on a dinner cruise on the Hudson River. </div>
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Even really before my first visit to the city, New York has been this surreal place of excitement and legend. I know in my anti-Yankee brain that this couldn't possibly be true, but my heart tells me that NYC is a city of a people who are following their dreams. It's a city created by people who have all, at one point or another, sought out to be the best human being they could be and to make something good and lasting come from their lives. It's creation from motivation, if you will. And it's this same dream that's brought me here to NYO. A desire to do something greater and touch lives and maybe be other people's superhero someday. I don't know if I could live up to the titans that exist today, but I will sure don my cape as best as I can and try to fly. And even if I crash into the ground, I suppose I'll just have to dust myself off, and climb back up to the top of the building to try again. They say that "insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." If that's true, then you might as well cart me off to the nuthouse right now.</div>
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So, farewell until next time New York. I can safely say that this visit was far better than any run in with George Clooney at the supermarket could ever be.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-17523088873216744082013-07-07T00:32:00.001-04:002013-07-07T00:32:19.855-04:00Alarm ClockI slept in today.<br />
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A whole 30 minutes later than I usually do...putting me at 7:30am. Yippee Skippee!!!</div>
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This is a huge accomplishment for me to be getting up all by myself. <i>Without</i> a parent around. It's like potty training for adolescents and my 18 year old self just got there. This entire school year, I was supposed to get up at 6:50. I think that maybe happened twice. But, I tried. Oh did I try. I had four alarms turned to deafening volume scheduled about 2 minutes apart from each other each in a different place around my room. One of them was that sleep cycle app that is supposed to track your sleep pattern and wake you up at the best time. And just like when trying to find an opportunity to tell your parents that you're pregnant, there really is no best time for either of those things. Surprise! (Dear Mom, I am very much kidding so you can put down your cell phone and refrain from calling me in a complete state of panic and disarray. Also, tell Dad to put his shotgun away, false alarm.)</div>
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Regardless, I have been able to get up at 7 just about every day and the extra thirty minutes were much appreciated. And I had to admit, I thought I had an easy day ahead of me. Today, we had workshops scheduled in the morning. Each participant got to choose their own workshops and so I chose Engaging with Audiences and Yoga for Musicians. </div>
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Engaging with Audiences was first and it was led by a few members of a chamber music collective group called Decoda. When signing up I was expecting a few performances from the members and since there was a horn player from Genghis Barbie (The horn quartet version of the Spice Girls...yes horn players<i> are</i> that cool), I was all on board. But I missed the important word in the title of the seminar: "engaging". We were encouraged to psychologically break down a piece and connect it with the other participants in the room. And believe it or not, your own brain has to be engaged in order to try to understand someone else's. There's a reason hypnotists don't try their tricks when they are half awake. By the end of it, everyone will be sleeping and no one will be around to snap their fingers and wake them up. </div>
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Moving onto yoga, I was looking forward to some nice meditation and relaxation. Throw some "om's" in there and I am all set. Wrong. I have played sports for almost all my life and like to consider myself strong enough to open those really tricky water bottles and pickle jars. That being said, yoga is one of the most physically demanding things I've ever done. Wearing a pair of jeans and a collared shirt because I am certainly not a "be prepared" boy scout, I think between the hopping, falling, and flailing I spent more time off my yoga mat than on it. I would have wagered that half of the poses were impossible if the instructor hadn't been nailing them smoothly without hesitation or any stumbling. In retrospect, I might have been able to see this coming based on my clumsy and sometimes hazardous mannerisms. (It <i>is</i> in fact possible to injure yourself while playing a friendly 4th of July kickball game.)</div>
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We were less than halfway through the day and this was already not the Golliwog cake walk in the park that I was expecting. Next up was orchestra rehearsal with Sean Shepherd, the composer of our newly commissioned piece, Magiya. After he compared his music to an "abominable snowman" and asked the second violins to musically show-up the first violins, I threw all my sheepish and antisocial composer stereotypes out the window. And we got to work. </div>
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Later in the rehearsal, we found out about this amazing opportunity that we would have while in Russia (as if we aren't having enough of those already). We will be giving a side-by-side performance of Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliette Fantasy Overture with a Russian Youth Orchestra. And after learning my part, all I need to do is learn how to hold a full-length conversation using only the words "goodbye", "yes", and "no". Yay for limited Russian knowledge and an alphabet that I can't even sound out. </div>
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Clearly, I think I needed that extra thirty minutes this morning. Tomorrow, we hit it Ferris Bueller style and take a day trip to NYC on our own "day off". A clumsy and occasionally absent-minded teenager and a bustling metropolis. I don't see a problem at all. </div>
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For now though, I have to get ready. Because although New York City may never sleep, I certainly do. </div>
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There is good news though. We don't have to leave until 10am. You know what that means. </div>
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Maybe I'll only have to set three alarms for tomorrow. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-56336269356930905632013-07-06T07:59:00.001-04:002013-07-06T09:47:20.118-04:00Too Cool for School<div>
"Those who can, do; those who can't, teach."</div>
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Oh yeah....good one. I mean come on, whoever came up with that saying could have done a much better job. There's no literary merit to that. They probably just think that they are "too cool for school". And at least that phrase rhymes. </div>
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Honestly, there's not a lot of truth to it either. If that were true, skydiving would be a very messy sport, most heart operations would be extremely unsuccessful, and Luke Skywalker wouldn't be able to hit a deactivated droid if it were standing ten feet in front of him. </div>
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Don't get me wrong, it's not like this is true for every great teacher. But I don't really think we can blame Mr. Miyagi for not being the American Ninja Warrior. It's not because he can't do it, it's because he's like sixty. That's like asking your grandpa to put on a cape and fly. He may have a titanium hip replacement but he's still no Man of Steel.</div>
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Regardless, the best way to lead is by example. It's quite hard to give an example of something that you know nothing about. Just ask any student who's fallen asleep in the middle of a lecture. (Note: Choice C is the way to go. It works for English<i> and</i> Spanish.) You can't really "fake it 'til you make it" as a teacher because quite honestly, your students probably already know that strategy.</div>
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The faculty here at NYO is a real testament to this teaching expertise. They come from all over the country: the Philadelphia Orchestra, The Metropolitan Opera, The New York Philharmonic, The Chicago Symphony Orchestra, etc. And I'm pretty sure that you have to at least have some clue of what you are doing before hired in orchestras such as these. Otherwise, I could have had my dad take orchestral auditions. And all he can play, musically speaking, is the radio. He's currently working on learning the TV as well but that's been a little bit slower of a process since they don't make Rosetta Stone for the remote. </div>
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Of course all of the NYO faculty offer extremely incredible expertise, but not only are they just principal players but they are players with principles (ba dum tsch). Each one has is invested in the students they teach just as much as they are invested in the instrument they play. Because of their commitment, we have become a part of their ability to share their work with others and it has been so rewarding for me to be in the company of these players. </div>
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Today, when Robert Chen subbed for Joshua Bell and played the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto, I knew that the violin wasn't the only thing he was playing. His humor and his artistic comments were his contribution to us. And I loved being a part of that. And last week when Professor Vermuelen decided to sit and eat lunch with us instead of sitting with the other clinicians, that was a part of his investment. And don't get me wrong, it wasn't social suicide (we aren't that uncool) but the horn section can't really hold a candle to the company of the other faculty here. </div>
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Ultimately, I think that expression needs to be changed because it's a little bit outrageous.</div>
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How about this:</div>
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"Those who have a lot of free time on their hands like to make up vast generalizations about people who are more talented than they are."</div>
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I think it kinda rolls off the tongue, don't you?</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-27421249086894447492013-07-04T00:50:00.002-04:002013-07-04T12:02:21.459-04:00The Rebecca Black DilemmaI really enjoy personal space. <br />
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It's one of my favorite things. Right next to the quiet game and timeout. It's still better than Julie Andrews' apple strudel and brown paper packages. Like...what? Someone's got her priorities straight enough to take care of children. Not.</div>
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So, when my mom explained to me what Feldenkrais was after it was announced as an activity for NYO, I have to say that I wasn't totally gung ho about it.</div>
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"Well, it's like...kind of...erm...like touching with regard to...eh like movement....almost like yoga but...not like yoga at all really."</div>
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"...wow. You should really write that one down, Mom."</div>
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Needless to say, I didn't know what to expect other than the fact that there would be some kind of touching which I would probably not be a fan of. It's okay, I'll try to paint a smile on the best that I possibly could. Unfortunately, I paint facial expressions and body language about as well as I paint in real life. I haven't made it past stick figures in art class.</div>
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So, here we are: Day 3 and Feldenkrais is in the morning. I'm in the first group of the day so I can't ask someone else who's walking out of the room what the deal is--not that I have <i>ever</i> done that in school. Not me. We walk in and it's set up in a double layered semi-circle with one chair in the middle. </div>
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You know when Rebecca Black describes that dilemma she has about "sittin' in the front seat" or "sittin' in the back seat"? That is a real thing. It's no joke, especially in a classroom. Each seat has extreme repercussions. Sit in the front and you get a good view, appear eager to learn to the instructor, but also appear to be kind of a teacher's pet to those who don't know you and are quick to make judgments. Sit in the back and you seem casual to the other kids and can hold a nice conversation (if you don't have an obnoxious stage whisper) but, you might been seen as uninterested to the faculty member. This is a problem. The struggle is real. </div>
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I saw someone I knew and snapped out of my slowly developing panic attack long enough to find a seat next to them in the back row. Luckily, it was just before Aliza Stewart walked out to start the class. </div>
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We just started by talking. Talking through why we move when we play, why it's important to move correctly, why some movement can be a hindrance and harsh (there's a reason they call some people violin-t). Slowly, we moved into exercises on our own. The best way I can describe it is really relaxed stretching. Stretching as if you had an hour before your soccer game instead of the ten minutes I usually had because I was always so late (surprise!). </div>
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No touching yet! I was enjoying it, and it seemed to be helping with some of the tension I have built up. What can I say? I'm pretty in-<b><i>tense</i></b>. Ha.</div>
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So, when she asked for volunteers to individually demonstrate some Feldenkrais applications relating to their instrument, I raised my hand. I didn't think she'd pick me, but I needed to recover from the back row decision I'd made earlier. So, I halfway put my hand up and everyone else's hand was higher than mine. No worries. She would never call on...ME? She's pointing to me? What have I done?</div>
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I was freaking out. Several people went before me and the no-touching thing was called off. A violinist who was playing some Bach is all of a sudden stretched and pushed to her limits of motion. And I mean limits. I don't know when she will ever need to play the Bach hunched over, on her tip toes, or while pirouetting around the room but I hope it comes in handy for her because for some reason it really perfected her intonation. The oboist playing Scheherazade could probably be flown on ropes from the top of the concert hall if he needed to. But, at least his sound was rich. The percussionist ripping through the Festival at Baghdad should skip lunch from now on and instead just have a full out picnic while he's playing. It would have been cool to watch if I wasn't next.</div>
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She asked me what I was playing and I had decided on the excerpt from Tchaikovsky's Fifth Symphony. I told her I'd like to work on my breath support in general and was wondering if she could help. She talked about what she would normally do in a private lesson to help me but she couldn't hold one of these lessons in the fifteen minutes we had left (I breathed a sigh of relief). But instead we'd do some other exercises through leaning on "the chi". </div>
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I didn't know what that was. If I had to guess at that moment, I would have gone all ethereal and said it was your internal concept of your own emotions and mentality. Nope. Wrong. "The chi" is a tangible thing. It's the place below your belly button at the waist line. After hearing this, all I could say was <b>Chi</b>'s Louise. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She put her fist smack dab in the middle of the chi and told me to lean on it as I played. Never in my life would I have guessed that I allowed this to happen. I was going to lean forward from a place I barely knew had a name until ten seconds ago while playing a hard horn excerpt and internally crying about the situation. This is way harder than you think. It's like repeatedly trust-falling in the middle of a marathon. You have to think that something's got to give, either your legs or your trust-fall partner. But nothing bad happened. Until she asked me to do an un-example by leaning away from her as she pushed and thus resulting in me almost falling straight on my back and needing a chiropractor instead of Feldenkrais. I secretly think the only reason she did it was just for the laughs around the room. But the real funny thing is, when I got over my touching hatred and actually trusted and leaned a bit, my sound opened up. I really am wrong <i>a lot.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
I made it out alive. I even stopped to shake her hand on the way out. She'd done her job by doing better job of explaining the method better than my mom had. With that and the playing improvements, I'd call that a success. Who knows? I might just have to start Feldenkrais-ing <b><i>on my own.</i></b></div>
<div>
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div>
Next time though, I think I might be sitting in the front row.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-21366622607107694192013-07-02T22:52:00.002-04:002013-07-02T23:55:54.830-04:00Girl on FireI sometimes make the mistake of thinking that I'm really witty.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For some reason, I put it into my head that I have these really good jokes. Sometimes I don't even need anyone to laugh at them but I think they are just the funniest things on the planet. So, I recycle them. Over and over. And over. Like the plastic bag that's been turned into everything from a pencil to a work of art back to another plastic bag (because the first time wasn't exciting enough). And sometimes, that plastic bag needs to be put to rest for good. So do these jokes of mine.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One of my "favorites" was a comparison between high school and the Hunger Games. College applications throw us into a ring and we try to destroy every one else in the ring so we can survive. Some can play it cool and just try to outlast without killing but others go about it in a more bloodthirsty fashion by sabotaging each other. Giving false critiques on resumes, poor advice, backstabbing, figuratively and literally. Well, not literally but I think we've all been close. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, this Hunger Games reference is my joke. I used it all the time in almost every college essay. Even in my NYO essay. No lie. But the thing was, I never read the Hunger Games. Didn't even see the movie so I could be scoffed at by the devotees to the "original intent of the author". Excuse my ignorance. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Whenever I used this joke, I didn't know what I was talking about. But this summer, I broke down and read the books, all three...in four days. I watched the movie too so I could now do my bit of scoffing as well. Think aristocratic cocktail party laugh while swirling their glass of wine and that's where I'm at. Guffaw.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But now, after thoroughly reading the books, I am able to make another Hunger Games reference albeit not as reusable. I am now the girl on fire. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Let me explain.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Before we got to NYO, all wind players were given our part assignments ahead of time based on our audition tapes. But string players had seating auditions. Yeah, I <i>was</i> really bummed about not having to stress out and over-prepare for an evaluation of my playing. I haven't done <i>any</i> of those before while applying to college. None. So yeah, <i>really</i> broken up about it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So because of this, the strings spent the morning of the first day auditioning while the wind players had sectionals. The horn section is extremely fortunate to work with William Vermuelen from Rice University and David Krauss who plays trumpet...oh and they are also principals of the Houston Symphony and Metropolitan Opera respectively. No big deal. Life ambitions. Whatevs.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, the first time we all got to play together as a full orchestra was in the evening. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Everyone has expectations for an opportunity like this. Everyone thinks that they have some idea of what it will be like, how it will sound, who they'll be friends with, or in my personal case, who will be able to tolerate their antics for more than two outrageously corny jokes. But quite honestly, first rehearsals are almost always a disaster: Take 120 young people from different parts of the world and ask them to perform that ice-breaker human knot exercise and you just end up with a giant mass of arm, legs, and a dash of awkward. Ask them to perform a piece of music? Oy vey. Because of the frequency of losing track of where the orchestra is, like to call that a "all children left behind" rehearsal. Those were my expectations.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was more wrong than I have <i>ever </i>been in my life. Shostakovich's Symphony No. 10 starts with a string opening and with the drop of the downbeat, the basses revealed the most deep and resonant sound that just echoed with a soft power. The upper strings chime in, seamlessly supporting and moving in this gigantic wave of one and yet, of many. It seems so effortless, yet I know full well how much persistence and how many hours are invested in many orchestras striving for tone concepts such as the ones demonstrated with in the first section of the piece. A group of people who had met merely yesterday was already revealing to each other their deepest emotions and allowing others' emotions to replace their own. A teasing and flirtatious piccolo to a woeful and broad bowing. All in unison broadcasting a message. Broadcasting <i>our </i>message. This was a feeling I had never experienced until this moment. And with so many emotions, all I could do was smile. A smile of pure and unmatched happiness. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We didn't know each other less than 24 hours ago and it felt as though we'd been playing together ever since we had first fallen in love with our art. The entire rehearsal I wasn't lost once. I knew exactly where we were and I knew that everyone else knew exactly where we were. We were home. We were together at last. And it was such a joyous reunion.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There really aren't words to describe how I feel. But, I thought back to the Hunger Games for just a brief moment and thought that if there ever were an opportunity to use "girl on fire" this would be it. Burning from within, I am the girl on fire. <i>We are the orchestra on fire.</i> </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, I hope desperately that you will be able to hear us play somehow. If you do, I have some words of wisdom. Even though it can get cold in a concert hall, there's no need to bring a jacket. I have a feeling that we will keep it pretty warm during our performances. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now that I think about it, I really like that "orchestra on fire" line. I might just have to recycle that one.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-73820378763129449752013-07-01T17:36:00.001-04:002013-07-01T17:36:06.188-04:00Dog poop.<div class="MsoNormal">
Even the best laid plans…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not actually sure what the end of that expression is but
I think it’s something like “Even the best laid plans can step in a giant pile
of dog poop every once in awhile.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe that’s not it.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To be honest, I was actually prepared for once. Or thought I was. I had everything packed, knew everything I
needed to know, and I thought it was physically impossible for my mom to have
any more tears. I was completely wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
About ten minutes into my day, I realized we never had
weighed the suitcase. No worries, we can
just pop that on the scale and no worries.
Using my bathroom scale, it weighed 55 pounds. Five over the limit. But that’s okay. My bathroom scale is wrong about my weight
all the time. Just like every other
scale with a woman living in the home.
It wasn’t wrong this time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But no big deal.
After all, you don’t have to diet and exercise to lose weight off of
your suitcase. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All ready to gohmygoshwhere’smyhornmouthpiece.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pause for question: Wait, Nikki. Why isn’t your mouthpiece with your horn? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well there’s a very good reason for that. I bring my mouthpiece everywhere: the
movies, the park, even prom. I’m not
kidding. What if a famous horn player walks into prom,baby blue tuxedo and all, and has a horn that they want me to play but they're missing the mouthpiece? Huh?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mom thinks it’s ridiculous,
but I’m a teenager, you aren't supposed to understand me. Gosh. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After finding it in my suitcase, we have now averted two crises and it's 9am. When we finally got to the airport, I discovered that my mother is a direct descendant of Hoover Dam. No joke. As soon as we saw the security line, the floodgates were released. If she hadn't been squeezing so tightly, I'd have requested a mop. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I usually don't have many problems going through security and this time was really no exception. I was through in no time. The biggest hold-up I've had with the horn is between two TSA agents trying to decide if it was an oboe or a tuba. I told them it was a tuba.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Soon enough, we are on the plane. Now, I did a lot of flying for college auditions and basically the rule was, once we got on the plane, we were all set. Especially on my direct flight. Nothing else to worry about. Oh, how naive I was.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The airport was too busy. We couldn't land because it was too crowded and so air traffic control had us circling. And circling. To top it all off, the pilot hadn't been as prepared as (I thought) I was, we had to go back to Dulles airport because we ran out of fuel and had to refuel the plane. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We weren't allowed to get off because the captain told us that he "would leave us right there in the Dulles airport with your hamburgers in hand and a stupid expression on your face." Word for word. I didn't leave. We didn't leave the people who did.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But after that, things got better. Two hours later I made it. And the people who had been waiting for me all this time were just as happy as I was. We had a long car ride compounded with traffic. (I know--traffic in NYC, no way.) So the six of us got to know each other and despite the fact that we missed the NYO photo scavenger hunt, we still took three pretty good instagram pictures complete with catchy filter and all. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I realized something. There's a silver lining to every dark cloud. Sometimes, the dog poop that your best laid plans clumsily stumble into can lead you to the new shoe that you've always dreamed of. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then I got back to the dorm room and the ethernet wouldn't work. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Goodbye optimism.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-46652964746943338562013-06-29T19:07:00.000-04:002013-06-29T19:07:03.430-04:00Last minute preparations.A wise woman once said: "The best minute to complete something is the last minute."<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That wise woman is me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And I like to practice what I preach. When I talk about having some last minute preparations to complete, I'm not talking about turning off my thermostat, throwing together an emergency kit, or rushing around my neighborhood looking for someone to feed my fish because I've forgotten he existed. No, by last minute preparations I mean <i>all </i>preparations. Everything.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, today being the last day possible to complete anything, I did <i>everything</i>. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I started off my day by immediately coming to the harsh realization that "dry-clean only" does not mean you put the clothes in the dryer before you start to wash them. And because I needed two dresses cleaned before um...well...tomorrow, I proceeded to call twenty two (no exaggeration) dry cleaning stores asking one question: "Do you offer same day service?" Twenty of those twenty two stores said no. Two left. Store 1 said that if I brought it in right away, they could get the order to me by 4pm. Store 2 said that I had the wrong number and they were a restoration company, not a dry cleaner. I went with Store 1. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
While getting the dresses, I checked the weather for Russia and London and realized that the 53 degree low average for the month of July was not in Celsius. And so I needed a coat that I could use over the dresses. (To the Northerners: people in Florida don't wear coats with dresses. When it gets cold out, we wear a tank top over a bikini. Naney naney boo boo.) So as I drove to the dry cleaner, I called my Aunt Kath, the queen of the bargain scene. Aunt Kath can find anything if you give her about three hours and four Goodwills. I mean <b><u>anything</u></b>. She was the first one to take Macklemore thrift shopping. So, I knew I'd be okay. In three and a half hours, including a lunch break, we found two winter coats, three nice sweaters, three collared shirts, one purse, and two belts for less than the price of a Snuggie. (You may be comfortable in your reverse bathrobe, but I can go out in public.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Getting back to the house...it's around 4, so I figure it's time to pick up the dry cleaning. Great, so all I will need is my wallet and the dry cleaning slip. I'm sure it's in my purse somewhere. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It wasn't in my purse. I lost it. In 4 hours. Shocker. And as I drive to the cleaners, I panic. I'm gonna get there and they aren't going to give me my clothes. I guess I could try the dresses on to prove they are mine. Like Cinderella! But, what if the dry cleaning shrunk them and then the dresses are too small. Then they won't believe me and I won't ever get an invitation to the ball. Oh no, I'll have to probably call Aunt Kath back and we will have to look for dresses at the Goodwill. But what if Goodwill kicks us out for already buying too many things. Is there a store limit? Maybe if I start crying they'll let me in.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The dry cleaning employee didn't even ask for the slip. Not a word. She just brought the clothes out on a hanger and I paid. Great. I'll just have to head over to the doctor to cure the stomach ulcer that developed from my ride over. At least I won't have to cry at Goodwill.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And after picking up laundry detergent and a book (it's important to smell good and look smart, even if you can't actually read), I went home to pack. Oh, packing. I'm the kind of person who forgets a toothbrush in their overnight bag. Packing for two weeks for me is like cooking an omelet when you are five: you need a parent. So my mom came and helped. So did my dog. Here's the thing about that: your dog might be able to play fetch or catch a Frisbee or jump rope, but mine can strategically place herself in the most inconvenient spot possible. I may play the horn, but the dog is truly the artist. About halfway through our joint packing (which was more along the lines of me launching clothes over the dog so that my mom could pack them), the unthinkable happened. I realized I needed a button on my pants sewed. So we brought out the sewing kit. <br />
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You have to understand, the ancient Greeks designed the Venus de Milo as a metaphor for my mom's sewing ability. That statue could probably have fixed the pants faster. <br />
<br />
A grueling half an hour later, we were done. Finished. Completed....Except for the list of things we have to do for tomorrow. It's okay, I still have time, my flight leaves at 11:00am. If I'm lucky, I'll be done at 10:59. That sounds about right. Now, I just have to move the dog off the suitcase. Eh, I'll do it at the airport.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-15756971309300876582013-06-22T14:07:00.000-04:002013-06-22T14:07:52.143-04:00Carpe Dime<div>
The other day I was watching What Not To Wear (aka The Pinnacle of Daytime Television) and there was this girl on who was truly a complete disaster. Aside from her strangled-rodent nasal voice and her ability to identify matching color combinations almost as well as Ray Charles, she also was unable to make a decision on buying anything without first calling her mom. This would have been fine if only someone had told her mother that the Cold War was over and she could finally come out of her bomb shelter. Fortunately, no one did and so I got a good laugh at three-blind-mice lady and her mom's expense. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On a completely unrelated note, I went shopping the other day for some clothes I that could take to NYO. Shopping isn't exactly my favorite activity. The only time I can remember having fun while shopping is when I hid from my parents behind a jeans rack in Wal-Mart for half an hour. Ironically, that's the only time my mom hasn't had fun while shopping. Since I couldn't exactly repeat that today, I brought my sister along to make the trip as quick and painless as possible. Unfortunately, we were having trouble deciding between these two blouses that I had chosen. So I called my mom to--</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Oh no. I called my mom. This can't be. I am three-blind-mice lady. Dang it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But there has to be some differences right? I can <i>usually</i> match clothes better than my colorblind dog. My mom <i>usually</i> knows what decade it is, although the 80's do like to call from time to time. But if I'm being honest with myself, I'm really not a very decisive person. I can't decide which shirt to wear to school, which breakfast cereal to eat in the morning, or even what to put as the third item in this list. And frankly, it's usually not too much of a problem. If I'm already tardy, what's the difference between five minutes late and ten minutes late, right? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Needless to say, I try to take all the advice I can get. Other people usually make decisions better than I can. I think this is because it's much easier to decide something when you're not emotionally involved. Like on the Bachelor last year, Sean should have totally picked--I mean I totally don't watch the Bachelor so I'm just going to stop with this analogy. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, when I saw on the National Youth Orchestra of the USA Fan Page (shameless self promotion) that some of our supporters had been asked to give us some advice for our tour, I took out my notepad. Reading through them, I found that my personal favorite was the "Carpe Dime" post. For those of you who don't know, it roughly means "Seize the loose change". Thanks Wikipedia. Regardless, the woman who posted it, despite her lack of proofreading, was getting at something. She wasn't exactly alone either. Many of the comments were about enjoying "each moment" and having the "time of your lives" and getting "a credit card with a chip in it". In short, Carpe Diem.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And I will. Despite the fact that traveling entails a migraine of worries, a J.K. Rowling novel of documents to verify, and an entire Russian pocket dictionary to memorize, I'm so excited. I'll be constantly gaping at the incredible architecture, marveling at the rich cultural traditions around me, and breathing in the history of where I am at that moment. I'll try to send some of it home. I'll try to stuff my emotions and happiness into a suitcase, try to sew all my memories into a T-shirt, try to shove all the places I travel into a snowglobe that I can throw in my bag. But I know that some of them won't fit into these containers. Some of them will only be able to exist within my memory. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So I'll try to recount everything in perfect detail. But I may leave something out. I know that there will be many stories to tell other than the ones I can describe. Unfortunately, that means I'll have to decide between the ones I can express in words and the ones I cannot. <br />
<br />
There's only one problem. Because of international calling rates, I won't be able to call my mom for help. I only have one solution. My foolproof last resort. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Eenie Meenie Miney Mo.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-26537621449617880972013-06-17T18:14:00.002-04:002013-06-17T18:14:25.432-04:00Awkward.There is a very fine line between funny and socially awkward. <br />
<br />
It's the difference between being laughed with or laughed at, being a stand-up or a trip-down comic, and the <i><b>only</b></i> difference between Bill Cosby and me. Trust me, I know full well which side I'm on.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I was little, I was calling an animal shelter to ask what items they needed most from our elementary school's collection. I was greeted by an employee:<br />
<br />
"Hello?"<br />
<br />
I took a big swallow and then spit out the following phrase:<br />
"HiIWasWonderingWhatItemsYouNeededAtYourAnimalShelter". <br />
<br />
"Oh thanks for calling! What's your name?"<br />
<br />
A question I did not anticipate. I froze....and then burst into tears and hung up the phone. Smooth.<br />
<br />
When I said that I was "little", I meant that I was about ten years old. Eight years later, I still can't order a pizza in person and the reason I choose Domino's is not because of the crust or flavor, it's because they let me order online. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So when I got an email saying that NYO wanted to interview me for an documentary that they'd be filming about the inaugural season, an opportunity that everyone would obviously want to jump at, I was less than thrilled. I decided to confirm the interview not because it was a great opportunity, but because, if I didn't, my mom would have killed me. I don't blame her. After your child has been sitting in the back of the orchestra for her whole life, you get quite tired of picking out the top of her hair in the end of the year slideshow. Although, the cowlick I have going on some days is quite adorable if I may say so myself. Either way, I committed and picked a date. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was a Skype interview. So much worse than a phone call. It would probably be longer than 30 seconds, there would be questions that required intelligent thought, and, worst of all, they would probably ask me what my name was. But this time, I decided would be different. I trained harder than Oscar Pistorius and I didn't even have to kill anyone (too soon?) I thought of questions they might ask, I tested and retested my internet connection, and completed the entire princess routine with Julie Andrews from The Princess Diaries. <br />
<br />
And with all of that practice, I was woefully unprepared. Due to the fact that I don't always check the calendar before making an appointment (Are you really that surprised?), I discovered that I would not be able to use my well-tested internet connection and the background for the interview that was just the right amount of class without the trying too hard part would have to be left at home. Instead, I had to set up next to the classrooms at my church because my sister had a rehearsal. On the bright side, it definitely didn't look like I was trying too hard.<br />
<br />
"Are you at a school or something?"<br />
<br />
It's a Saturday. I couldn't really tell if she was joking or not because the video on her computer wasn't working. Her profile picture, the inspiring New York City skyline, was not really helpful when attempting to decipher visual cues. Skyscrapers, despite their giant glass facade, aren't the best windows to the soul. But she had to be joking right?<br />
<br />
"Ha...um, no. I have this--well this function thing--and my sister--in the other room there's a rehearsal..so yeah." <br />
<br />
So yeah?!? What are you doing?! Wait, stay positive. It couldn't have been that bad, at least you didn't cry, right?<br />
<br />
"Okay, sounds fun, ready to get started?"<br />
<br />
As ready as the kids on 16 and Pregnant are for a baby. But, we started anyway.<br />
<br />
"Have you ever been out of the country?"<br />
"Um...no. This will be my first time."<br />
"Oh, you must be excited then. Are you scared?"<br />
Of this interview...yes. "A little bit."<br />
"What's your biggest fear."<br />
"Losing my passport."<br />
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Oh my gosh, I didn't mean to say that. Don't get me wrong. It was the truth. But somethings, like your prison record at a PTA meeting, are better left unsaid. She starts to laugh and I realize that she thinks I did it on purpose. Quick! Laugh before she realizes that you made a mistake. And thus I learned the most important rule of injury, gymnastics, and this interview: recovery. And that lesson pretty much dictated the rest of the travel questions.<br />
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After that we moved into music. And something really crazy happened. My constant urge to casually move my mouse to the red END CALL button stopped for a minute. The words started flowing a little bit and I found that I could take at least a few good strides in between my constant dance of stumbling and catching myself before I hit the ground. We talked about how I fit in to the orchestra. We talked about how my single line of notes can slide easily into the massive and powerful creation that can fill a concert hall but can also delicately handle someone's heart. We talked about what music meant to me and how something so personal and introspective can reach the ears, minds, and souls of so many people. We talked about how feelings so complicated can be so universal and widespread. We talked about something I could hold in my palms and keep trapped in between my fingers. Something that was mine and mine alone but also something that I was willing to give away to let other people experience, just for an instant, how it felt to be me. Ha. Cloud 9? More like Cloud 90.<br />
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That's really what I hope I said. That's what I wanted to say. If my mom had been listening she probably would have told me that I said 10 um's, 12 like's, and a rousing 16 "so...yeah's". But for me, that's a record for a thirty minute phone conversation. So, I'll take it.<br />
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The issue is not resolved. I still get embarrassed when buying a pair of sunglasses for the third time or when calling the Apple Store for an appointment. But I am getting better. Watch:</div>
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My name is Nikki LaBonte and I--nope, I'm tearing up.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-38547890170788661002013-06-12T22:44:00.001-04:002013-06-13T14:43:24.763-04:00I lost it already.I currently have no idea where my passport is.<br />
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Like not even the usual "Oh I'm sure it's somewhere in my room along with that dive computer I lost and my MIA favorite pen." I'm not at all exaggerating when I say that it could literally be anywhere in the country, or world for that matter. I might need to buy it it's own passport so it can get back in the US. (Is that even possible?)<br />
<br />
So, to help me track it down, I'm going to retrace my steps.<br />
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Step one:<br />
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Carnegie Hall had informed us that they would be sending Russian Visa applications out that we would have to complete. Unfortunately, these visa applications require their own pictures. I don't know why I expected that maybe the US passport photo would be okay in Russia. We can't even standardize a system to measure milk, why would we be able to standardize an international travel picture? Have no fear, the differences are tremendous. Instead of the much too large and perfectly square US passport dimensions of 2 inches by 2 inches, the Russian passport photo must be the exceedingly more stylish and precise 35 mm by 45 mm. Thank goodness, because I look much better in a rectangular frame. Secondly, there can be no smiling. None. Which logically leads me to believe that people in Russia never smile and wouldn't be able to recognize someone who was smiling. Because I can't even manage to fit 3 people in a selfie on an iPhone, I went to Walgreens to get that picture taken. A very friendly, yet non-Russian, Jeremy patiently stood there attempting to take my picture as I would constantly burst into laughter and thereby completely ruin the visa photo. (On a side note: the photos of me laughing were quite stylish and I may have to change my Facebook profile picture very soon.) Finally, I bit the bullet and just drank a glass of sour milk, which explains the pleasant face I'm making. We moved to the computer to crop and resize it. But of course, we ran into problem number two--the fact that Russian passport photos are different than Russian visa photos. And because that would make things way too easy, Walgreens only has the format for Russian passport photos. I find this ironic for very obvious reasons. So, we attempted to format the picture with the correct dimensions of the head and shoulders by using the sub-par Walgreens editing software and the position of the collar of my shirt to determine where my head should be. It's just as fun as it sounds. <br />
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For some reason, I brought my passport along. However, I do remember sheepishly putting it back in my bag after being told that you don't need proof of residency in the US to get your picture taken. Awkward.<br />
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Step two:<br />
I returned the passport to my usual place. My mom said that I should find some place in my room that isn't constantly cluttered so that I will remember exactly where I put it. I have tried this before with my bank account information. And it was effective--so effective that I didn't lose the information in the clutter of my room, but instead forgot the secret place that I put it. So this time, I decided to revise the method and change the location. I took the passport from my bag and put it on the bookshelf next to my favorite book, East of Eden by John Steinbeck. I figured that this would be a great spot because East of Eden is my go-to book for all my AP book reports. It's like the all-purpose WD-40 of literature and so I like to use it. A lot. Then I remembered that I won't be writing AP book reports because I don't go to high school anymore. So, to help me remember the new secret location, I've now posted it on the blog.<br />
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Step three:<br />
Carnegie Hall finally sent the Russian visa applications that were supposed to be sent in "mid to late May".....on June 12th. I would like to take this opportunity to point out that one of the most renowned and professional concert halls in the world has procrastinated just as much as I have. It then became my responsibility to complete the application that night. Most of it was pretty straightforward, I described in detail my legendary valor and dedicated service to the Russian KGB and why I should be chosen as the next Czar. Then, I read the directions provided by Carnegie Hall. (Now that was one of the best ideas I've had in a long time.) Although it was less fun, the process became easier. After signing a NO-SMILE agreement, I completed the application and printed out the forms. I got the necessary accompanying documents to mail with the application and threw everything in an envelope. I remember my mom made me hand deliver it to the mail-lady because my passport was in there and she didn't want it to get stolen. Wait. My passport was in there?<br />
<br />
My passport was in there. <br />
<br />
Found it. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05119833964084713255noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4970561113666387628.post-33033525931634593172013-06-06T00:06:00.002-04:002013-06-29T00:32:53.307-04:00Hello. Is it me you're looking for? Hi. I'm Nikki.<br />
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Those who know me will vouch for the fact that my life actually isn't that interesting. If you are looking for a fairy tale with dragons, dungeons, and magic, you might want to double check your URL. Despite the fact that I have met some fire-breathing people, I don't know any dragons, the only dungeon I've been in is the tuba locker in the band room, and no one has ever come up to me and said "Yer a wizard, 'arry". Although if they did, I'd ask them to put their contact lenses back in and call a cab for them right away.<br />
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Although I'm not a wizard, I am many other things. Forgetful is one of them. In the past month, I have lost two pairs of sunglasses, a pair of headphones, lots of valve oil, several pieces of music, and now with this blog post, my dignity. I think I'm on a roll.<br />
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Aside from that, I play(ed) varsity soccer and was a goalkeeper, mainly because it involved less running, which I am always a fan of. I like to write mainly because I make myself laugh more than the people around me. I am a Christian and I recently delivered a sermon that was surprisingly not met with the boos and rotten tomatoes I was expecting. I love the beach, especially at night, love biking when I can, and love the forest. However, if there is any way that the frogs, spiders, snakes, worms and fungus could be eliminated, it would be much appreciated. <br />
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I'm also a musician. I've been playing the horn for almost 9 years. However, I was not one of those people who immediately picked up an instrument and could play Flight of the Bumblebee in seven different keys. My mother likes to describe my playing initially as "dying elephants" which is an odd, yet extremely accurate depiction. <br />
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But even if I couldn't play every piece in the repertoire by age 10 (cough Mozart is a jerk cough), I strangely enjoyed missing all the notes. At first, I loved the grimaces of my parents who tried their best to hide the traumatizing effect of an elementary school band concert. But eventually, I stopped looking at my parents and started looking at myself. What I found surprised me. I discovered a mirror and a telescope, a breath-taking sunset and a melancholy drizzle, a tender embrace and the searing pain of betrayal. I discovered the emotions of music. And I couldn't be more in love.<br />
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This relationship has yielded some incredible experiences. Recently, I've been extremely fortunate in my acceptance to the Eastman School of Music, where I will be attending in the fall, and with this amazing opportunity of NYO-USA. I auditioned in November for the program and was miraculously accepted (they must not have been paying much attention to my recordings). My mom and I celebrated in the hallway of the University of Illinois campus where I was auditioning for their music program and were subsequently scolded for disturbing the other audition candidates. (If any of you are reading, I am truly sorry but from what I heard you sounded wonderful and I'm sure it wasn't a problem for you.) <br />
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This summer from June 30th to July 23rd I will have a once in a lifetime opportunity with many other young and talented musicians. We will begin with a two week residency in Purchase College to rehearse and get to know the other orchestra members. Although, after two weeks, because of my aforementioned poor memory, I may know the names of about 5 of them, including myself. After that, we begin our tour with a concert in Purchase College on the 11th of July, and a performance at the Kennedy Center in Washington D.C. on the 13th. From there, we fly to Moscow, perform at the Moscow Conservatory on the 16th, take the train to St. Petersburg and perform at the Mariinsky II theater on the 18th. The tour is concluded with a performance in Royal Albert Hall as Prom 13 in the BBC Proms on the 21st (I don't think you understand how much I am fangirling right now). If you want to learn more about the program, check out the Carnegie Hall page <a href="http://www.carnegiehall.org/Education/National-Youth-Orchestra-of-the-United-States-of-America/">http://www.carnegiehall.org/Education/National-Youth-Orchestra-of-the-United-States-of-America</a> or you could always ask me, although I may have to look it up myself.<br />
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Throughout this incredible experience, I'll be posting here (with some pictures) to let you know how I'm doing and what I'm doing. I am ultimately truly honored by this experience to do what I love while traveling to these marvelous places with other incredible artists. I will try my best to post in detail all of the events that happen to the best of my memory. Although, knowing my memory, I'll probably have forgotten what I ate for breakfast by the time lunch rolls around. Maybe this blog is more for my own records than yours...<br />
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So, thank you, in advance, for reading as I chronicle my fairly mundane life. I will try to keep it as interesting as possible but there's only so much I can do. After all, I'm not a wizard, just a musician.<br />
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