shout

• margaret (M) and her discourses on the occasion of humanity;
• B: a guiding light for we stray sheep.
  

new york was productive. heartening. i had a few job interviews. being across the street from carnegie hall, catching a few performances here and there, dreaming of being backstage, ready for my close-up...

i missed nick's show at the stone, as well as talea's joue of stockhausen's kontakte (anthony cheung, piano and alex lipowski, percusson).

i identify the ride from new york to b-more with fried chicken, biscuits, baked beans, and (a new addition) chocolate milk.

now, to the grindstone, of sorts. making decisions about auditions, repertoire, strategizing for the imminent. perhaps an october weekend in montréal with natalie carducci in tow?

in search of:

an inspiration. a sign. a bolt of lightning. my late-night interest in david copperfield wanes; amos oz's the same sea waits on my deep yellow shag carpet, untouched.

shortly, i will away to new york, stay with charmaine uptown, work for the league for a few days, visit old friends up at purchase, lay down a few funky flute sounds for marc wolf, and on my way out miss nick's solo stone gig.

newly minted: my own fancy flash website. (in progress)

discovery: the very cool, sparse yet rich art+culture site.

pattie

i would like to know a guy named paulie and ride a bicycle with a peppermint stick in my mouth. to roll with the punches.

predicting

being jobless, young, without much work experience, with too many degrees, in this economy, is risky.

i am passionate about tutoring, teaching flute to kids who haven't been touched by the rampant adolescent jadedness, working on musicals where everyone has good creative energy, and playing music that forces me to take a second, or third, look.

i struggle not to take personally every absent email or call from a potential employer. i'm qualified to do this work; why not call me? you stand to gain more than you stand to lose by doing so. it's a tough scene; i should've set myself up for it better.

lynn's compadre from her madrigals group at the rennfest yesterday liked my self-dubbed moniker: "marauding martha."

this week: wednesday, "glee" party with richard, pizza, twizzlers, ice cream...is this what i wish high school had been? sticky fingered sugar high, tripping on my own pretend happiness? it truly was the apex of our teenage lives, with a relentlessly regimented schedule, like the army with more social hierarchy and less yelling. i've convinced myself over the years that the few mentions i got in our senior year yearbook signified that i had made something of myself. now i realize it was only in mr. wright, our militaristic, baptist preacher of an AP english teacher, who saw beyond what we were and peered into what he hoped we would become.

wince: reality

i've been home a few days now and know that traveling this summer was the right, if untimely, decision. i risk nothing by sending out a few resumes, putting out feelers.

between new mexico and europe, i crashed for a couple of nights at jake's apartment in queens. i knew that i would be without constant access to a computer for nearly 2 months, which was exhilarating....free! unbound! unreachable! myself.

i came across the inimitable nick at quiet jam session in new jersey on a raining june evening and can't (won't) forget it. 

returning to france - specifically, to paris - after two years' absence was a poignantly nostalgic experience. nothing, and everything, had changed. 

someday i would like to play music with mira benjamin's beautifully reckless abandon, alexandre's expansive curiousity, and nick's incorrigible exploratory thirst. i can only strive.

now playing: ali farka touré, "tchigi fo"