I live in New York!

I'm finally moved into my apartment in New York! It all happened yesterday, and wow, did stuff happen. The harrowing tale of my moving day begins with a two hour delay thanks to a U-Haul employee who showed up to open the store an hour late. After my brother and I (and ten other angry renters) watched him saunter casually through the parking lot doing a half-assed inventory check, he rented me my truck. Since the reverse directions from the West Roxbury U-Haul store were with my roommate, who graciously used her final hour of a rental car to drop us off, we did our best on the "Emerald Necklace," which is a series of loops and arbor ways and a dearth of street signs. In the end, we took the long way through Roxbury (and every stoplight) and ended up at my apartment around 12:30pm.

Our first parking spot was about a block and a half from the front door, so my brother, roomate, roommate's brother, and a friend and I shuttled everything down the elevator and down the street until we found a spot right in front of the apartment. By the time we finished loading, and I had cleaned my room and the bathroom for the last time, it was 4:30pm. Still, if traffic cooperated, we'd get there in four or five hours, and still be able to avail ourselves of unloading help courtesy of two of my friends in New York. Not so much.

I drove the first three hours, about an hour of which was spent crawling in traffic. It was also pissing down rain most of the time, which made driving the 17 foot truck even that much more fun. When my brother took over, we were about halfway there. He then drove about three hours, another hour of which was spent crawling. Once we got around Norwalk, we had to pull off so I could pee, as I was near death by coffee. As soon as we (finally) pulled into a Walgreen's parking lot, the heavens opened up and biblical rains began pouring down on us. When we got back in the car, and were approximately 45 minutes out of the city, things got worse. It was raining so hard that the stretch of highway we were on was flooding. Water was coursing in waterfalls down embankments and around overpasses, sending small saplings and rocks the size of my head tumbling across the road in foot-deep rapids. Luckily, we were high enough up that we could feel the water pulling at our tires, but weren't affected too much. The same couldn't be said for the lines of compact cars pulled to the side of the road with flooded engines.

By this time, it was around 10:30pm or so, and we'd been wading for about an hour. While my brother was peering through the sheets of water on the windshield, I was calling my friends to ask when it would be too late to ask for their help, since they both work early in the morning. Once we got out of the monsoon (which cleared up rather suddenly), it was determined that one friend could still help for about an hour. So we started booking it towards the Triborough Bridge. Unfortunately, our exit towards Harlem River Drive required 8'8" of clearance, which we were definitely not going to make at 11' high. So we had to stay on the Grand Central Parkway, and got ourselves lost up in Queens. We pulled off to ask for directions, and once we got them, made for the midtown tunnel (very narrow and long in our big ass truck), and finally got up to Harlem at a quarter of midnight.

My sister joined us (did I mention I'm living with my little brother and sister?) in unloading, and then a great thing happened--a man approached us off the street, and offered to help us unload our whole truck for $5. Keep in mind, this truck included all of my stuff, all of my roommate's old furniture, and some of her things, as well as some belongings of another friend of mine. The guy helped us unload everything into the foyer in less than half an hour, including helping my brother move a very heavy electronic upright keyboard up our two flights of really uneven stairs. We gave him $20 and thanked him profusely.

Then began the super fun task of relaying all of that crap up the stairs and into the apartment. We fell into a good rhythm, and switched around doing stairs and carrying into the living room, passing the PowerAde around, and we probably finished at about 2am. Clothes soaked through, exhausted, and silly from about 1.5 hours of sleep the night before, I helped my sister set up my old bed in her room, she helped me set up my new (old) bed in my room, and we all took long, cold showers. After everything was done, and I had located enough supplies to get up in the morning at 7:30am to move our truck out of an 8:30am-10:00am no parking zone, and take it back to U-Haul, I finally fell asleep around 3:30am.

9:45am: My brother knocked on my door--his alarm didn't go off, and I slept right through my phone alarm. Crap. We scrambled to get down to the truck (which I was terrified might have been towed or ticketed), and found a parking ticket for $45. Ok, so I can't afford that, but I have twenty days to pay it, and the babysitting I'm slated to do next week will at least buy me that ticket. So much for a bed frame. We went back up to the apartment, and grabbed a broom to sweep out the truck and avoid a $25 cleaning fee. While I swept, my brother scraped off the sticker they'd slapped on the windshield. As I was finishing up, he came around to tell me that he'd locked the keys in the cab of the truck. My inner monologue: don't be mad, don't be mad, don't be mad--he came to Boston to help you move, and has helped you out so much, find a zen place, don't be mad, don't be mad, you are zen. My response: (calmly) "shit."

That all happened around 10:00 this morning. It's now 3:00pm, and we're still waiting for the locksmith to come. I think my brother's now with the superintendent, trying to find a friend of his who can jimmy a lock with a coat hanger. I hope it works, because the locksmith people on the phone said that U-Haul trucks are notoriously hard to get into. I don't care how they get into it, they'd just better not hurt the damn truck because after my ticket, a tank and a half of gas, and numerous tolls, I can't afford another fee. Sigh. But I'm here, I'm zen, and I don't live in Boston anymore. Thank God.

Update: The locksmith came at 3:10pm. We took the truck back to U-Haul and there were no extra charges. I got my MetroCard. I am (at least, in terms of mass transit) a New Yorker.

Northeastern Exodus Antics

In honor of the thousands of Northeastern students taking leave for the summer, a very small tribute to adolescent hijinks...

Boys (I'm assuming) who live in my building routinely drop apples and pears down the center of our winding staircase. That's five floors worth of velocity and gravity and all of that stuff I never really committed to memory contributing to apple and pear sauce/puree/fruit salad on the floor of our lobby. I love boys. They're so... simian?

The acoustics of the street outside my building, combined with the weird architecture of the concrete building across from us, make every word uttered on the street audible to the inhabitants of my building. This is especially obnoxious at night, since herds of students stumble around together, screaming at the top of their lungs in celebration of their collective inebriation. Overheard the other night: "Yeah?!?! Well, what if I just stabbed you until you died? I hate you, motherf*cker!!! And you know what--I f*cked your mom, I f*cked your cousin, and I f*cked your gimp sister!!!" Excellent. Thanks for sharing.

The people in the apartment(s) above ours are not the quietest. The ones above Karissa's room seem to be playing basketball of sorts at all hours of the day and night. The ones above mine play ridiculously loud, bass-heavy dance music at all hours of the night. Both of our upstairs neighbors often have loud, headboard-banging sex. Good for them. The last few nights, the music was especially loud, and coincided with my arranging a tune for big band for a final project. Karissa, surprised at the noise I deal with regularly, went upstairs to investigate. Upon ascending the fruit-strewn stairs (sometimes they don't fall straight down), she discovered that our doormat which had been left (along with lots of other rubbish and dirt) by the previous occupants of our apartment, and ganked at some point in the fall, now resided in front of the door of the noisy people above my room. She returned, mentioned the purloined doormat, and we called the cops two nights in a row. It worked the second night. The night before last, as we were returning upstairs in the elevator from emptying our trash, we decided that we would re-gank our doormat. We went up to the fourth floor, Karissa snatched it, and we decided that, rather than putting it back in front of our door, we'd see if we could incite a rivalry between the loud, dancing nymphos upstairs and the chill, perma-stoned boys on the first floor. So we rode the elevator down to the lobby, made sure the coast was clear, and slid the doormat in front of the herb-friendly door. We returned home, quite proud of ourselves, and feeling much like we used to in undergrad. The next morning, I left for ensemble, and was amused to see that the mat was relocated to the front stoop of the building outside. I love the chill stoner boys. Now our little mat can help keep our fruit-smeared, pot smoke-filled lobby cleaner. Lovely.

Feels like the first time...

So I can say with pretty much no exaggeration that the past month and a bit have been crazy. In addition to a packed schedule (upon which I will not elaborate), my plans for this coming Fall were largely up in the air until a few days ago. Before about March 20, I had been completely set to move to New York in September. Then the Thelonious Monk Institute solicited about 4 or 5 jazz voice teachers around the country to each recommend one or two strong singers and improvisers to audition to jump into the Institute in September to fill the newly vacant singer spot for the remaining year of the two year fellowship. Wow, did you like that run-on sentence? I'm on fire! My teacher recommended my friend Dave and I, and we rushed to prepare audition materials, gather letters of recommendation, and put together a press kit. So, until a few days ago, we had be waiting to hear if we would be one of three applicants to be flown to Los Angeles for an audition. Instead of receiving either a "Congratulations, you're going to L.A." or a "Thank you for your interest in our program" letter/call, we each received a "Well, actually, no one is going to be filling the vocal spot for next year." They apparently hadn't cleared the pinch-hitter situation with USC (where the fellowship is sponsored) or the selection board before they began the audition process. USC said they couldn't give a one year participant a diploma, and the board said they couldn't sign off on anyone who wouldn't receive a diploma. So basically, the last month of waiting built up to a pretty anticlimactic finish. It sucks that we went through all of that for almost nothing, but I'm honestly just so relieved to know what I'm doing next year. Pre-Monk, I had been getting so excited to move to NYC, and for the waiting period, I pretty much had to put that on hold and consider the possibility of living in L.A. for a year. Now that NYC is back in the cards for sure, I'm getting excited again. Plus, quite a few of my friends are making the move as well, and it is really nice to know that you're not moving alone. Yay for the newest additions to the NEC alumni colony in NYC.

Blog, honey--I swear, it's not you. It's me...

Sigh. I have actually started to forget that I have a blog. My hope is that this is a temporary condition, as I do so enjoy waxing poetic about my observations, opinions, and experiences. Unfortunately, what had already promised to be a crazy time--what with classes and recital planning--has turned into two months of insanity. An unexpected trip home for my grandmother's funeral, an impulsive, albeit brief President's Day sojourn, and now a raging sinus infection have all thrown wrenches into deadlines, preparations, and other such necessities. Things are getting ever so slightly away from me, and I'm definitely struggling to keep up. Add to that the fact that when I actually have my recital, even if things are prepared and running smoothly, my apartment is going to be full of people. And it's small. Sigh. Thank God it's spring break next week. At least I'll have a minimal amount of time to play catch-up. And in the meantime, until April 3, please content yourselves with reading from my archived blogs. No, scratch that--read something good. Like a novel. I would suggest White Oleander. I just finished it a few weeks ago, and it was excellent. The subject matter is heartfelt and harshly real, and it's written in beautiful, sensual, haunting prose. How was that for a mini-review? Okay, enough meandering. I have things to do. Oh, and here's the obligatory recital plug:

Monday, April 3, 2006
8:00pm Williams Hall
New England Conservatory

There may be snacks afterward. But I'm not making any promises.

Back in the swing of things...

So, after a long break at home full of sorting through my old papers, packing up boxes, sleeping in, and talking to old friends about marriage, babies, and remodeling, I'm back in Boston. Although I enjoyed the time off from work and school, I have to admit that I missed the energy and accessibility of the city. I also never get as much music-related work done when I'm at home, so I feel like I can really get started on arranging and writing for my recital now. This is a good thing, since April 3 will approach more quickly than I expect, and I have a lot of work to do. Speaking of fast-approaching deadlines, the graduate music history exam is in exactly two weeks, and I have yet to choose the three pieces upon which I must prepare three research papers. Of course, they'll choose one of them for me to write on, but since I don't know which, I have to prepare all three. Oh, woe to be a procrastinator around exam time. Wish me luck and speed. I should acknowledge a serendipitous start to the semester today. About three minutes before I was supposed to leave for my first class, I decided to check my email. Lo, and behold, the jazz department assistant had emailed my class to let us know that we wouldn't be meeting today. That is one of my favorite things in the world!!! Must be a good sign for this semester. Perhaps that, and my Dean's List status from the previous one will somehow karmically insure a bump-free ride over the next few months. Well, a girl can hope, can't she?

In other news, I'm beginning to get excited about moving to New York. I've been looking forward to it since I decided to move, but I guess it's actually starting to sink in. I've been there several times, and stayed with several friends, but it's one thing to visit, and quite another to inhabit. I'm also trying not to freak out too much thinking about the cost of moving. Fortunately, there's a chance that a good friend and I can share a U-Haul since we should both be moving at the same time. Before we can plan for that, though, we both need to find apartments. Ack. So much to do, and so little money with which to do it. I guess that's what I've signed up for with the whole performing thing, so I shouldn't complain too much. Oh well, I'm still excited either way. Soon I'll live so much closer to many of my friends. Thank goodness for having a lot of friends in a new city. I don't know what I'd do without them.

Well, I'm off to make myself a sandwich for breakfalunchsupper. My eating habits are just fabulous. After that, it's off to see Brokeback Mountain with my friend Ryan. Perhaps my next blog will be a review. No promises.

Good Things

Well, I'm home for the holidays. After a long day in airports and on airplanes, I finally arrived on Christmas day. Of course, my right leg smelled of oranges, courtesy of one of my row-mates, and my bum was a bit sore from being kicked and nudged through my seat by a small child almost repeatedly throughout the flight from Minnesota to Washington, but I got home. And just in time for a fabulous Christmas dinner, and more Christmas presents than I was expecting--always a welcome surprise. The next surprise was borne of a lie of omission by my parents. In view of the impending sale of my Grandma's estate, my parents have been shopping around for a new house. It must be said that a new house is well overdue my family, as our current house is the one we moved into when I was about a year old, when my parents were hardly twenty years old, and they weren't exactly expecting a family of four children. So, although our small house has been a good home, I am so completely excited that my parents will have the opportunity to move into a nicer, bigger, more comfortable home in a nice neighborhood. Oh, I got distracted. Anyway, they had told us that we would get to look at the three homes they'd narrowed their search down to. They took us to the first home, and we got out, expecting to look around. Not so. The owners had forgotten about the meeting, and were a little skittish about letting us in when the place was a mess. So, my dad said "well, take a good look, cause 'welcome home!'" Our collective response was sort of a "huh?" They had already bought the house, and escrow will close sometime around early February. So the next time I come home, it will be to a new house. I suppose I'm lucky in a way, having that happen long after my first years of college. But, on the other hand, perhaps others who have moved earlier and more often are more accustomed to change. Who knows. Either way, I'm happy for my parents, who got a spectacular deal on a house almost twice the size of the one I've known almost since birth. (1600 sq. ft. to 2250 sq. ft.) Yay for them!

Hmm. But change is good, right?

It's December 23. The night before the night before Christmas. My activities for the first non-working, non-churching, non-classing, non-practicing day in months? Went to bed around 5am, woke at 10am, 12pm, and finally, 2pm. Made lunch, ate lunch, compulsively checked email, watched parts of Return of the King. Took a nap. Woke around 6pm and took a shower. Ahhh, nothing like a fabulously indulgent shower after a fabulously indulgent day. Also, nothing like brushing your teeth way later than you should. Makes your teeth feel extra squeaky. Well, mine at least. 8pm, dressed and bundled to fetch last minute things (i.e. cab cash, chocolate) before Sunday, as all activities tomorrow will be limited to before 2pm. Looked for my keys. Did not find them. Cursed, yelled a bit, became frustrated. Still did not find my keys. Roommate's boyfriend came home with roommate's keys. Borrowed them, and went outside for the first time today. It's a lovely forty degrees, which feels excellent (said like Mr. Burns). Now it's 11pm, and I am eating the best pork chop I've ever cooked, accompanied by perfectly prepared lima beans. I've been reflecting on my activities for the next two days, and have concluded that this will be the weirdest Christmas I've ever had. Tomorrow, I will be at church from 2pm until sometime after midnight, and Sunday I will spend about twelve hours in airports and in the air. Weird. Merry Christmas.