Aargh, and why gym yoga sucks

Today started off so well.  It really did.  But it got rather unpleasant by the end of the day.  Here's why: I went to a gym yoga class, because it was free, and it was pretty awful.  Terrible sequencing, way too many beginners, bad instructional cues, no anatomical sense in the sequencing, etc.  Example: started in child pose, then down dog, vinyasa, and crow? All within the first 4 minutes of class?  I almost started laughing, because it was fucking ridiculous.  It was also a lot of people who had no idea what they were doing, and I was in pain watching their form, since many of them were ignorantly cruising for a bruising.  So that was pretty upsetting.  It sort of did the trick for what I was going for-I just didn't do the stupid things, and didn't do too many vinyasas, but it was also upsetting.  The other thing I found out today was that my friend, who was watching my car, (but hopefully not driving it much?) took a friend to the emergency room, and then got sideswiped in the parking lot.  (But of course, not while he was in the car, so now there's a huge scrape on my bumper, no police report, which means I can't easily claim it, and I'm not even in the country.)  That's been majorly stressing me out, since I hadn't wanted him to be driving my car much anyways, and for this to have happened so soon after I left is really upsetting.  I know it's not his fault, and I shouldn't be mad at him, but I had given him the key to my car in the hopes that he would move it every now and again, not get it hurt.  Now, a trip to the emergency room is totally justified, but what kind of major bad luck is that?  It's pretty ridiculous.  I'm not sure what to do about it, and I hope he's willing to pay for some of the damage.  Without a police report and more extensive documentation (like proof that the other car hit me) I can't get reimbursed, which he of course didn't realize.  It's just stressful to not be able to do anything about it, and to not be able to do anything about for a month and a half at least.  The damage isn't structural, so the car is still safe to drive, but it looks really bad, and that's upsetting to me.  Either way, I don't know what to do, and I've been emailing people for advice, since my parents would flip if they found out.  I need to fix it before they visit me again, and that's that.

On a more positive side, I'm playing Theofanidis in a recital on Friday, and I'm excited about that.  I also climbed a mountain, and had  a ground squirrel eat from my lap, and sit on my knee.  So cute, it was disgusting.  My friend took some good pix, so hopefully those will follow!

listening to: The passion pit cover of "Tonight, Tonight" by the Smashing Pumpkins

Moving is like squeezing your soul into a cardboard box and drowning it

I'm so glad I'm done moving.  For now.  I'm still having anxiety dreams about moving, especially to Boston in the fall.  Last night, I dreamt that I forgot to take out my furniture, and that I instead just left the state without actually moving anything.  I moved out of my Rochester apartment all of last week, and put everything into a storage unit in the Roc.  Then, I have to come back in August, and get a truck, and move stuff to Boston, which will be scary and complicated, because I theoretically have to go to orientation, or at least audition for orchestra, which all occurs before September 1st, when I have an apartment.  So it's going to be bad and scary and all of those usual things.  But more importantly, I simply don't understand how I seem to acquire more things, even though I buy less things each year.  It's like my possessions become more and more unwieldly each year, and then to get them into a truck is like trying to stuff a sleeping bag into it's microcompact little nylon bag.  It felt really good to be sorting, purging, donating, recycling, but then the box moving came, and it was pretty awful, especially since I did most everything myself.  It was sad to be putting my whole life into a bag or box, through it into another box, and then hope that I wouldn't need it for 10 weeks.  Since I'm going to California after Banff, I had to pack for all sorts of weather possibilities, and also had to bring tons of music.  I never realize how much stuff I have, and how much stuff I need, until I have to put it into a box, and make it weigh less than 50 pounds.
It was definitely an insightful experience.  It made  me want to live in 1997, the era of inflatable furniture and jelly sandals, so that moving would be super easy, even though it could cause chafing and blisters.  I also realize that the platform shoes were pretty tall back then, so any space saved with furniture compactness would be lost with the transport of 3-4 inch platform sandals and 28" bell bottoms.  So maybe it's all relative.  Either way, it was stressful, and damaging (bruises! back pain! sliced off part of my finger!) and I'm looking forward to 2 whole months without moving.

On the bright side, my luggage arrived last night, and now I can brush my teeth.  Don't ever overestimate the joy of dental hygiene.  I am also playing Ligeti tomorrow in a class, and Theofanidis on Thursday, and then I will attack some Takemitsu, in the most flowing, beautiful way possible.

The Grumpy Traveller

After fourteen hours of travel, door-to-door, I made it to Banff last night, short my luggage, and pretty damn tired.  (Got there at 10:30 PM mountain time, 12:30 eastern).  My flights were delayed, and I missed the bus that I was supposed to catch.  But the real clincher is that I STILL DON'T HAVE ANY LUGGAGE. And it's been over 12 hours since I landed, and 14 hours since I changed planes.  And I'm really fucking pissed.  I have no clothing, no music, no underwear, and frankly, I don't have the means at 7:42 in the morning to get it from downtown Banff because nothing is open.  I called United this morning to see where my shit was, and I got rerouted to a foreign country call center, (great!) and that just topped off my morning.  Needless to say, I am not a happy camper.  I am a firm believer in personal hygiene, especially when meeting people for the first time, and this is bad.  At least I have my viola and my computer, but otherwise, way to go United.  After a shitty week of moving and cleaning, how nice that my day of travel should suck so much.  At least people were nice to me at all of the airports, but still.
AARRGGGHHHH.

Highlights from Geekfest 2010

Ahh, yes.  The Viola Congress, which I was in fact dreading, turned out to be wicked awesome.  (Think of that with a Boston accent, k?)  First of all, I got to stay with a friend whom I haven't seen much in the last two years, so that was pretty great.  Second of all, I got hired by Kim to be her personal assistant in the fall.  Third of all, I found out that Garth Knox, the man, the legend, is coming to NEC next year.  Yes, my debt is absolutely totally 100% going to be worth it.  (Here's a pic of them both!)  Fourth of all, I got to hang out with my college roommate, and feel awesome when going to an urban outfitters in an old church.  Oh, and did I mention that there were two to three concerts a day by solid faculty?  

Concert highlights:

Garth Knox Solo Recital (one word: baller)

Kimmy Kashkash's double whammy: Shostakovich Preludes arranged for viola and piano one day, amazingly weird performance art for viola and percussion the next day.  I am SO looking forward to my future employment.

Nobuko Imai's lovely interpretaions of Takemitsu, especially beautiful in realizing that she is 66-67!  

And more!

I was also thrilled to have contemporary music concerts EVERY DAY that I was there.  I don't love all music equally (Brahms and I are NOT speaking right now, since he's making me play him in July) but damn, I love the weird shit a lot.  Garth Knox also sold us all on his contemporary etudes Viola Spaces which I am definitely going to learn.  No question. He's our newest viola crush, when it comes to this stuff, and he makes an amazing team with Kim when it comes to duets.  

And the moral, is this makes me excited to practice!  And learn stuff! And also believe that there's hope for me too, because we all play so differently and want such different things in a career. (But don't worry, I'm still stalking Grizzly Bear in my spare time and making greeting cards and baking.)  I just think there's a possibility of doing lots of things that you love, and maybe everything will work out someday, and you and me and everyone else we know will be bathing in the splendor of their heart breaking with music.

listening to: garth knox, bruno maderna "viola," broken social scene "world sick" from forgiveness rock record.

Oh wait, and we got a free stainless steel viola water bottle and two free sets of strings.  YES.

Underwear Fail

So I found these on etsy last week, and I emailed them to MJ and then she emailed regretsy, and now they're on the website.  Epic underwear fail.  The comments are truly priceless, though.

It has a hint of Dylan's Rare 1967 Release, with a tinge of this rare 1980's grunge band EP release...

One of the things I have thought about doing with my life is writing about music. Preferably not classical music. I have thought about this for many years, even looking into getting a journalism degree instead of a music masters. But at the end of this whole 'writing about music,' whether popular or classical, I end up dissatisfied. Why? Because writing and describing any form of art is a way of making it something other than it is. When I write about what Scarlett Johanssen's voice, I'm saying what I think it sounds like, what it's been influenced by (whether or not it has) and what it lacks. And that's great, but I almost feel like the better advice is to tell someone else to listen to a piece of music or see a painting, and judge for themselves. With classical music, I can very clearly articulate what I like and don't like. (impressionism, tone color, minor seconds, sevenths, irregular ostinati, sweet viola/saxophone/bassoon/bass/trombone soli in orchestral pieces, minimalism, occasional tonality, extended techniques.) But I can't always apply these ideas to popular music writing. The things that I like about Grizzly Bear are not always what the popular music critics make note of. They might talk about their influences, their forward and backward looking inspirations, etc. But the things I hear are:

1) Diversity of texture: irregular drum lines, especially as reinforced by the bass line and kick drum

2) Awesome 2-4 part harmony: duh. 2 lead singers

3) Beatles' like diversity of singers: 2 lead singers, sometimes alternating

4) A wide range of song styles, from the folksy, acoustic and intimate style to a more extroverted and raw sound.

5) Creepiness: sometimes the songs are creepy as hell, because of harmonies, slow build ups, distortion, etc.

What I hear in Lady Gaga is:

1) The speak-song style of Gwen Stefani, Black Eyed Peas (see, I'm alluding to previous groups! Yikes) or a husky Cher (from the late 90's) which yields a fairly limited vocal range and volume, not belting, but not ethereal

2) Really good basic beat structure usually complimented by a synthesized pitch pattern, which may be irregular

3) The songs are usually in 2 or 4, layered with a series of electronic repetitive textures. The melodic lines stay in limited tonal areas (I-iv-V-vi). (Just dance repeats the minor third interval a gazillion times!!!)

4) Her most successful songs are the ones in which the combination of beats, simple catchy melody and texture are diverse. Her worst songs (and there are quite a few that drift towards Fergie of Black Eyed Peas bad.) are lopsided, and lack one of the basic ingredients for success.

Suggestions: varied tempi, more irregular beats rather than a repetitive track, and more diverse chords/melodic lines. She clearly has a limited vocal range, and it comes through in her songs.

But really, does it matter? Does my opinion on why or why these songs are not good make a difference in whether or not people like it? Nope. Not at all. You could just as easily criticize it for being commercial in its production values and musical aesthetic, which juxtaposes with the style, video, and performance aesthetic, creating a hyperbole of sorts. Quantifying art is really hard to do, even if you think it's clearly "bad." One of the main premises of art is exploring territory which is difficult to explain in words, and that must be experienced, seen, witnessed, etc. I don't usually read reviews very closely, whether of music, movies, or books. I usually read a paragraph or two, get an idea for what the reviewer thinks, and then decide if it's flaws and strengths interest me. That's it. I rarely read the whole thing. I usually look at Pitchfork's reviews, look at the number score, listen to a track or two, read a paragraph and move on. In the end, I want to make my own decisions about music and art and whatnot, and while I'd like to think that my opinion is worthwhile, everyone has a right to evaluate music, art, and creative mediums. Thus, I will probably never be a professional music critic.

listening to: The Morning Benders

You can hear the album version here: (their recent album, "Big Echo" was produced by own of the members of Grizzly Bear.)

The Things We Lost

There were three situations yesterday that, when combined, reminded me that being a girl/lady/female, can be challenging.

Situation 1: One of my friends was creepily stalked at an unnamed Ohio rest stop, and realized how creepy predators are.

Situation 2: I went to a 6 hour bluegrass marathon (not entirely by choice, since we can safely say that's not really my scene) and almost all of the bands were all male. Out of 5 groups, each with 5 members or more, there were only 3 women there, out of 25. It was a reminder of all of the challenges that face women in music, especially in male dominated genres.

Situation 3: I watched the movie, "The Lovely Bones," which is based on one of my favorite books by Alice Sebold. Obviously, the movie was flawed and by no means perfect, but it still got the main issues across: an innocent 14 year old girl is raped and murdered in 1973 in the middle of suburban PA. She narrates the story, watching down on her family's suffering and slow recovery from her death. The book is way better, but the movie managed to still make an impact on me. I cried when Susie Salmon can't escape from her killer, even though I've known she was going to die for 6 years since I first read the book. My heartbeat went out of control when her sister breaks into her killers house, and finds evidence that he killed Susie. And in the end, Susie meets all of the other girls that were murdered by the same man, and I cried the most, knowing that there are serial killers, rapists, and criminals who have no guilt about kidnapping children, and killing them.

Most women I know have had some sort of brush with sexism, sexually inappropriate conversation, or harassment. Some have dealt with much worse things than I have, and others much less. But in the end, we all deal with something, either through our own lives, our friends', or worse, our children's. I would hardly say that my brush with these issues has been significant-I've known people who were sexually abused by their family, or date-raped, both situations which are far more grave and troubling. But I have still had my own experiences, both of which unfortunately occurred within the first few months of college, back in 2004.

The first event was at the 2004 election, in which Kerry, a Boston favorite, ran against GWB, and subsequently lost. In Boston, there was a huge rally/viewing/festive gathering in Copley square, and one of my newish friends wanted to go. A few top 40 music stars were going to perform (Bon Jovi, Sheryl Crow, The Black-Eyed Peas) and it was free. It sounded pretty harmless, even if it was raining a bit. We walked to the square, and got in line- we could see the concert, but there was an inner sanctum that you had to be let into by the police/guards. We waited around for a while, like sardines in a container, being pushed and shoved, but mostly left to our own devices. After an hour or so, we got close to the divider between the crowd at large, and the close-up concert area. We were in the front row, next to each other, and people were so close to us, that we paid them no notice. Sadly, in the dark confines of the square, a young man, probably still in college, began to grope me. He was much bigger than I was, probably 6'2 or 6'3, and by the time I knew what was happening, he was breathing down my neck and rubbing my back. I kept trying to shake him off, but there was nowhere to go. My friend was talking to someone next to her, and I in turn, had no way of letting her know what was going on, since I was effectively immobilized. He never dared to touch the front of my body, because that would have revealed himself to the others. But his body was right behind mine, and I could feel (unfortunately, one of the worst things ever) him rubbing his groin area all along my lower back. He was clothed, but it was an awful experience nonetheless, to be a recipient of an unwanted dry-hump in public, with thousands of people surrounding me, not seeing. I suppose to other people, it looked like I knew him, even though I kept trying to elbow him in the midsection. I remember stepping on his feet, and elbowing him, and him just laughing, and his friends laughing. It was pretty tragic at the time, simply because I was crying, and had no escape. I couldn't move anywhere, forwards or sideways, and I didn't know what to do, since I could see no exit from the situation. It wasn't my friend's fault, she talked to me while it was happening, but she couldn't see what was happening in the pitch black dark-everyone was so close, that it probably just looked like he was a bit close. I couldn't tell her what was happening, I was too afraid. While he was breathing down my neck and pushing my shoulder blades together, I was fearful that he might even have a weapon, or that if I told someone, something much much worse would happen.

After about ten or fifteen minutes, the line finally moved, and my friend and I were let into the inner sanctum. As soon as we were let in, I moved as far away from the entrance as possible, and I was a bit of a killjoy for the rest of the evening. My friend was so excited about supporting Kerry and getting rid of GWB that I didn't have the heart to tell her what had just happened. I know I should've told her, but I never did.

I never saw their faces, but I have always imagined what he and his friends looked like: large jocks, used to sleeping with lots of women, never thinking twice about their actions. That's probably one of many reasons that I'm slightly terrified of overly muscular men-it reminds me of a certain personality, a certain flagrant disregard for other people in most situations. If something like that happened now, I would probably defend my territory much more than I did then. But then again, I had just turned 18, and I had spent all of high school being melancholy and mopey. I wasn't exactly prepared to defend my rights as a woman, or to demand that justice be served. I was being preyed upon, because I was young, innocent, and afraid. It's amazing what fear can do to you, how irrational and paranoid it can make you. It was an awful experience, and barely holds a candle to some of the more awful things that happen to women in this world.

The second unfortunate experience, which was entirely unexpected, occurred on a brisk afternoon in December, (brisk by California standards) in which I was walking home from the post office, approximately 10 minutes away. I was walking on a fairly busy street, and a sketchy man on a bike began following me. He asked me directions for a street, and I told him to go straight and turn left. I watched him as he turned right on a residential street in my neighborhood, and I paid him no mind. I turned right on my street when I got to it, and proceeded walking towards my house. I heard the sound of a bike behind me on the street, and I saw the same man, wearing glasses, with scraggly facial hair, and dark clothes. He pulled up next to me, showed me his penis, and asked me if I would suck him. I remember thinking that I wouldn't let the first experience happen again, and I reached into my bag and began feeling for my cell phone. I told him, with a tremor in my voice, that I would report him to the cops and to leave me alone. I was in much less danger this time, simply because I was on a street with houses, even if no one was outside, and I knew that I was only a three minute walk from home. I watched him pull up his pants, and turn left on a side street, as I walked as fast as I could home. I remember looking back every few seconds, in fear that he would be there, and that I would have no power to do anything, but I made it. I ran up to my house, tremulously unlocked the door, and began crying. No one was home of course, since it was a weekday, and I ended up sitting on my living room rug holding my dog, while I cried. I remember trying to call my dad at work, but I didn't want to leave a message. I called the cops, and tried to explain the situation, but it was difficult to explain, and they didn't really pay my call much notice. I left a panicked message on my friend's cell phone (she lived in Missouri) since I had no one to call, and I just sat in my house, shaking from the encounter.

I never told my parents about either of these things. I never had the courage to do that, and I never wanted to make them worry more than they already did. It was bad enough that I went to college 3,000 miles away, but to have been a victim of a crime while there would have been awful for them. This was the time when I knew I needed to transfer schools-my viola teacher was being awful, and was gossiping about me to other students, and I was worried that I wouldn't find a new teacher to study with or school to attend. My parents were already worried about me, most of the time, and I never found the courage to tell them what really happened. I had dreams about both of these situations for months long after they happened. My friends were very supportive and understanding-I only told two or three of my closest friends. I didn't think the encounters were worth discussing, but in hindsight, they were awful experiences. The feelings of absolute fear and terror were awful, and I would never wish those upon anyone else. In that way, I still believe that no matter the strides our world has made politically and socially, there are still significant crimes against women, children, homosexuals, and others. We must stand up for others' rights whenever possible, and show kindness to those in need. No one deserves to live in such fear, even if for a moment.

"I wish you all a long and happy life."-Susie from "the lovely bones"