A Wardrobe Away from Narnia

Some days you find yourself riding a train through the English countryside next to the ocean, eating a brownie, listening to Christmas music, drinking tea and reading a good book. This is a good day. And this is how my day began yesterday. I fully expected that when I arrived at the station, I would find myself at some grand estate, then a hide-a-seek game later I would be having tea with Mr. Tumness. Instead I found an excited Jan picking me up and then taking me through a surreal journey to the world of Peter Grimes.

Aldebrugh is where Benjamin Britten and Peter Pears called home and eventual laid themselves to eternal rest. I likewise laid myself to rest, but thankfully not eternal, and after a wonderful day which included a concert, fis and chips, a sappy Christmas movie, and thought provoking conversations with my favorite Irishman, but not necessarily in that order. And earlier that day Jan said something quite fun: "I don't want you to take offense to this, but sometimes you sound like Michael Jackson." Never been told that before! Unfortunately, she was not talking about my singing voice.

Rewind to one day earlier. I was exploring Cambridge, take 2, only this time with 16 excited Americans and 1 not-as-excited Englishwoman. Since I had already been to Cambridge, my enthusiasm was at 80% instead of its usual 180%. One amazing art gallery and a sleepy train ride later I found myself back in London. I met Jan and Den, then went ice skating. I don't get paid for my work with Orion, but I definitely do get some perks! Ice skating beneath the London Eye, I got tips from my Italian friend Onofrio. "I'm pretending I'm royalty," He would say as he raced laps around the rest of us. While he transformed from a Russian Prince to a Belgium ambassador, I became more and more comfortable in my skates.

Then up the London Eye, at night, as romantic as you could possibly imagine, except for the romance part. Afterward, sushi, my first in months. I failed in my attempts to use restraint as I gorged myself on conveyor-belt delicacies. Then on to salsa dancing, and then several long bus rides home. The best part was I made friends. The worst part, I do not know their names.

Then off to Adlebrugh. But I've already said that. This an experiment in backwards, disjointed writing--please indulge me. Speaking of writing, I've realized that people are still reading my blog, but now comments are normally shared in private. My suspicion is that you don't want to be associated with my ramblings. Brave soul, I dare you to publicly comment!

Life continues to turn and shift, and though I can hardly say I have things figured out, I can say I'm in a better place. A glance at the date reminds me that I only have 3 weeks--how fast it has gone!

Andy Writes

Every once in a while you find yourself wandering between various Prets and Starbucks searching for internet access outside the tower of London because you are meeting a class there in an hour and the reason you are so early is because you wanted to practice the piano but the church was not open like it said it was but you find that the mushroom soup was quite lovely in regards to the the lousy weather and you own well-being also quite under the weather and green tea is always a nice and rare commodity in England and then you're starting to regret eating that chocolate chip cookie because it was almost 2 pounds and you are in fact sick.

I'm having one of those days.

As several of you might already know, I did not make it to Ireland. I would recount the story for you, but I find that I have hard time doing that without including profanity. If you are nonetheless determined to hear the story, please ask a mutual friend that I have already vented to and perhaps they can filter out the cursing for you. Enough said on that subject.

The past week has been eventful, complete with an Orion concert last night. To say that the 1st half lacked music that had the ability to give me an ecstatic endorphin release would be a drastic understatement. The 2nd half was much more suited to my taste (which, as we all know, is pinnacle) and showcased the orchestra as the fantastic group they are. Also, the 2nd half was absent of a certain pianist a la manner Lang Lang. This woman unfortunately reminded one of the Chinese superstar's lesser traits, including wild and dramatic antics unequaled with a deficit in musicality, though in her defense the concerto hardly lended itself to leaving one amazed. To quote a colleague, the piece was a bit "indulgent."

Once again, I apologize for the weirdness of style I have adopted for this current blog. The apology is false, for were it sincere I wouldn't write in this style, but it amuses me and therefore it is retained. Yet still I feel as though I should make an excuse for it, as though to make up for the fact that it is odd. My writing style is something that I am feeling more and more confident about. I find myself writing more than I ever have, between classes and work. Not that I have been getting positive feedback, in fact, the feedback is always on content and never on style, but the self-discovery of voice through experimentation as been wonderfully amusing. At serious poetry I am horrendous; and if rhyming is involved my readers normally flee and find the nearest wooden spoon to gag themselves upon. My light poetry is childish and gruesomely cute. Hallmark would groan if they read it. Academically, I am too casual and generally lazy in my research and approach: my most successful, discussing the endlessly boring topic of Jewish aesthetic theory in German 12-tone opera that I alone seems to find interesting, sits in a stack, only partially edited, while the author fantasizes of transforming it into an undergraduate publication. For journalism I am too long-winded, and "concise" is a term I have yet to learn. For prose, I strive for success, but with unsuccessful results. The mysteries lack the structure, the horrors are unpurposefully comical, the romances miss the real experience, and the fables have no morals. For plays, nothing could be worse, for dialogue is the most unnatural of my creations, perhaps due to my inability to talk and converse. (ha ha. ha ha.) For advertising, I lack the wit of 1 sentence. Why should I ever use 1 when I could use 7?!?!

This leaves me with one option, which I have learned to embrace fully and unabashedly: satire. The sarcasm oozes, the insults take wing, and my cynicism is finally put to healthy use. Yes, healthy is a debatable term. Therefore I take up my satire, boldly and fiercely, for it is all I have in terms of words.

Oh dear, I haven't even really written about London today.

4 weeks later...

Before I begin I should mention that the computer I am currently on does not have spell check. Spell check is one of the most brilliant/damaging inventions mankind has ever come up with. Brilliant, because, well, that goes without saying; damaging, because as young 20-something hoping to soon enter the professional world, I still cannot spell. Oh the embarrassment.

4 weeks since my last blog. So much can happen in 4 weeks. So much HAS happened in 4 weeks. I've been growing, and metaphorically the last 4 weeks have come and gone and left me several inches taller, complete with the pains and the stretch marks. I'm not a new person but I am an older person. This is an interesting phase of life, where I am forced to balance so many contradictions: the wisdom of age, the cynicism of experience, the arrogance of youth, the energy of childhood. These are overflowing within me, and like an unschooled pool boy I am frantically and constantly remixing the chemicals in hopes of finding a non-toxic balance. Thankfully there have been no deaths, but my childish inexperience has not only killed the bacteria but left rashes on some few poor, unexpecting swimmers.

Forgive me, my analogies are ridiculously extended, and by now you are no doubt wishing you had swallowed chlorine. Metaphors and emotions I abandon thee thus and now embrace the more simple and tangible facts. When I left you, my dear readers, I had just finished the big October concert and was preparing for the legendary midterms. The papers (as grades reflected) were anything but legendary, but the vacations were worthy of such an adjective! I began the break with an Ian Bostridge concert/lecture--he's tall and a bit awkward, though quite funny. Free CD and now a claim-to-fame later, I spent the first part of the break working.

By Monday I was off to Venice. Disneyland for grownups was how the city was described, and no description was more fitting! I loved it, though it was quite a fairy tale. If anyone tells you Venice is the most beautiful city in the world, believe them. I chased my Venice with an unusual trip to Cambridge. Alone, it once again confirmed that this is not my preferred way of travel, but I enjoyed the beautiful town. What type of University has their 800 anniversary? Not an American one.

Another week fulfilled its typical usual unusuality. I saw one of the most fantastic productions of Hamlet in my life, and then attend a Leif Oves Andsnes masterclass. After watching him sight read Mephisto Waltz better than an already-brilliant Royal Academy student, I wasn't sure if I was watching another fantastic pianist or a Norse God with super-human musical skills.

Then I went to Bath as opposed to taking one. The baths themselves proved to be the most unremarkable item of the town, though the abbey was probably the most beautiful I've seen in England. At a whim I decided to crash there for the night with a few others from the group. The next day was spent exploring various English towns and really getting in touch with the English countryside. Regarding the latter, there simply was no choice. Our request to find Stonehenge was answered by a bus driver dropping us off in the middle of a field. We wandered, climbed barbed-wire, dodged cows, and found the underwhelming world site only to be barred by a chain-link fence and £7 tourist fee. Fortunately, cameras can overcome chain-link fences. Unfortunately, batteries cannot overcome death, and I was forced to stop my photoshoot short. Back to London

Halloween came a night early in the form of an awkward over-50s pub. Yours Truly was an effected Andy Warhol, complete with an Eddie Sedgewick, a Glitter Fairy, some sort of crazy schoolgirl, though the last two were not connected to the theme. (Though considering I was Warhol, the latter two don't sound all that strange.) The lack of a dance floor only encouraged its creation, and I now find myself dreading when such incriminating videos will be posted. Naturally, my health had had enough by this time, and has left me withered with a raspy replacement for a throat. In 15 minutes I will go to catch a plane to Ireland--perhaps I should be writing down my family member's address if I am really going to find them.

If you are still reading this, you a brave soul. I find my head of late to be in the lands of Joyce, Mann, and Haddon. Though nowhere near their talent, I apologize, for you have undoubtedly been the unfortunate victim of such influences. Until next time!