"The Way It Feels To Live Now, Today"

The story starts when I was sitting in a meeting in the Aaron Copland room.  I could hardly focus on the discussion because we were in the Aaron Copland room.  The portraits and captions around the room narrated his whole life, and I wanted nothing more than to walk in circles taking it all in.  Y’all know I love a lot of composers and a lot of music, but Aaron Copland is particularly fascinating.  

A brief bio: He was raised by Jewish Russian immigrant parents in Brooklyn.  His first assignment, when he studied under Nadia Boulanger in his 20s, was to compose an organ symphony, which ended up premiering with the New York Phil that concert season.  He was an openly gay man, which was uncommon for the 1930s.  He supported the Communist party until he heard about the restrictions Stalin imposed on Shostakovich.  An eccentric guy, overall.

This homosexual Jewish Russian communist from Tin Pan Alley is credited with creating the Americana sound.  Maybe you can’t articulate what that sound is, but I know you’d know it if you heard it.  It’s music that conjures up images of Arizona sunsets and Colorado mountain peaks.  It’s in the soundtracks of cowboy movies and tales from the frontier.  Copland uses open chords to paint pictures of wide open plains and prairies.  The music itself just feels vast as the American landscape

I sat there unable to focus on the Deems Taylor Awards meeting because the ‘Hoedown’ from Rodeo was ripping through my mind with the spirit of a wild bronco, alternating off with the image of a picturesque prairie cabin brought on by ‘Simple Gifts’ from Appalachian Springs.

I re-realized how beautiful the musical heritage of America is.

The Deems Taylor Awards honor excellence in music criticism.  The people who receive these awards are making socially and intellectually relevant commentary on the musical climate of the past and present.  Isn’t that fitting for the moment I was having?  These are the people who would have noticed Copland’s talent if they’d lived in his time and been the first to laud his emotionally charged sounds.  These people are helping us define our musical identity today by articulating what we feel when we listen to music.  That is such a hard thing to do.  

And I re-realized how valuable the fusion of music and literature is.  

I had a vague notion that it all tied together.  

When I finally took lunch at 3, I opened Facebook to answer a message.  The first thing on my Newsfeed was an interview with J.K. Rowling from her fundraiser this weekend.  It started by reminding the viewer of who Rowling is, as though anyone could really forget.  They credited her with instilling a new passion for reading in a generation.  They went on to talk about her charity, Lumos, that finds homes for institutionalized disabled children.  When asked why she chooses to spend her fortune this way, she answered in her usual unassuming and unpretentious character: “What is the point of being alive if you’re not trying to make things better?”

That is a damn good question.

And I re-realized how good for the soul charity and literature and children are.

And there was this resounding notion that it all tied together.

I sat there at lunch with a cappuccino, tabs of my browser open to Lumos and Thought Catalog and Feminist Frequency, rain boots on my feet to get through the snow and sleet of the morning, and this overwhelming desire to shout to the world how good life is.  At that moment, my tiny, personal slice of life felt enormous with potential and excitement and even the responsibility to make things better for people who don’t feel the vitality I feel in the world. 

So I left the building at 5:20 to catch my 5:41 train like usual, but the city caught me way off guard when I stepped outside.  Lincoln Center is more beautiful at night than it is during the day: the Metropolitan Opera House and the plaza and the fountain are all lit up and peopled with tourists and opera-goers and artists.  The trees in the street dividers running down Broadway are all draped with lights.  Stray flakes are still falling from the first snow of the season.  I can see my breath and everything is glowing.  This moment is so perfect.  Every light in this city is a star to wish on, or represents the light of each soul trying to make it in this world.  

I re-realize how small I am.  No, I re-realize how big the world is, and how grateful I am for that.

And somehow it’s all tying together.

The Americana sound.  Our musical identity.  The value of all art.  

A well-loved book.  A coin tossed in a fountain.  A neon sign in the dark.  

Every simple thing is a gift.  

Writing about Writing or alternatively The Story of My Stories

Also called 'The Story of my Writing' or 'Writing about my Stories'

This is a series of vignettes, which started as separate thoughts and ended up stringing themselves together like a garland.  I apologize for keeping you.  I’ve always got something to say, but I’d be speechless with appreciation if my chatter is worth your attention.

ON GRAMMAR

I feel very strongly about the rules of grammar: we should all use them.  Writing loses its credibility when sentences are unstructured and juvenile.  What you have to say could be the most intelligent and insightful thing I’ve ever heard, but I won’t trust it if it sounds written by an ESL middle schooler.  Irreverence toward grammar is unforgivable.  

The pun isn't even about grammar,
but that doesn't make it any less true.

Stylistically sidestepping the rules is another matter.  When I’m writing creatively I prefer winding run-ons that wrap around themselves like ribbons spinning from a spool.  I’ll use every splashy adjective in the rainbow to modify my subject, squish a verb for every step of an octave into my predicate, and adorn my objects and complements with description till they collapse like Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree.  I make up phrases and skip in circles around what I’m actually saying so you’ll start to hear my words in my own voice, smiling with each syllable.

This brings me one step forward, two steps and a Maxie turn sideways to my next point.

ON THE PRETTINESS OF WORDS

I swoon over pretty words like I swoon over nothing else, except perhaps the climax of Ralph Vaughan Williams’s Fantasia on a Theme.  

A word could be aesthetically pretty, like whimsical or cacophony, or it could be symbolically pretty, like elysian or scintillating.  Oh, tell me I’m scintillating and I’m yours forever.  

Pretty arrangements of words stop my heart too, and that’s why I love poetry.

look up:and we’ll 

(for what were less than dead)dance,i and you;
high(are become more than alive)above
anybody and fate and even Our 
whisper it Selves but don’t look down and to 

-morrow and yesterday and everything except love

e e cummings

Did you smile?  I outright giggled.  Did you get it?  I sure as hell don’t.  I just love how it makes me feel.  Words make me giddy and weightless.  Any other girl’s heart might skip a beat when a boy smiles at her the right way.  Mine goes when a writer reaches for a pen.  

ON STORYTELLING

The memory I recall is never quite the story that comes out, because stories are different from memories.  I’m the protagonist in my memory, but I’m also the narrator in my story.  Narration provides insight.  The best stories are not memories told precisely as they happened; they're memories that have been best realized.  Take what you remember and figure out what really happened in the world and how it affected everything else.  Like so:

Related:
If I haven’t told you about the horror and the
hilarity of my orchestra years yet, ask me about them. 
In my freshman year of high school, there were 11 lewd,
rough-housing boys, 3 laid-back, lanky drug addicts,
one lesbian, and terrified me. 
It was the worst year of my life. 
I haven’t stopped laughing about it yet.

Before they became the story of how I fell in love with music, my memories of my middle and high school years are those of a brace-faced, socially inept, know-it-all tweenager who wanted to be the best at everything.  It’s only by the grace of God or Beethoven or the Muses that in my crusade to outplay everyone else, I found my life’s calling.  That part, of course, is the romantic story I tell.  No one wants to hear the details of the stick-in-the-mud Hermione part of my life and I hardly even want to remember it, so it gets re-written.

The problem with story-telling is that it’s so easy to replace my memories with my stories.  My 20/20 vision is made hazy by rose-colored glasses, and I live with a permanent filter on reality to keep ugly ideas and pessimistic vultures out.  I erase the errant smears that fall outside the lines of the life-story I’m sketching.  I’m so far past the frontier dividing fact and fiction that I wouldn’t know how to return to a life of veracity if I wanted to.

  

Washington Irving phrased it well: “I am always at a loss to know how much to believe of my own stories.”

ON MY OWN STORY

My story-telling hobby has become such a habit and a heartbeat that I live comfortably in those terms.  I am the main character in my life story, the protagonist in my own bildungsroman.  I don’t mean that in a narcissistic Generation Y way.  Every person has his own nuanced and sensational story.  I happen to be living in this one, and I’m obsessed with appreciating everything and documenting life as it happens.  

"Everything before now, before now,
before now is just a story I carry around."
Chuck Palahniuk

As such, I take a bit of every character with me from everything I read.  I face this daunting, breathtaking, heartbreaking world armed or impaired with Alice’s curiosity, Harry’s selflessness, Elphaba’s defiance, Scout’s sense of justice, Gatsby’s delusions, Piggy’s intellect, Peter’s ignorance, Huck’s humor, and Equality’s ego.  Right now I’m still figuring all the pieces out, but one day I’ll have had enough characterization to be my own complete character.  Or maybe not.  I could go on re-writing and subtly shading myself anew forever.  How should I know?  I’m only in the formative stages of this epic, after all. 

ON THE COVENANT WITH THE AUTHOR

"Blue sky ocean to ocean,
blue ocean sky to sky. "
Rod McKuen

Whether I’m opening a book or an article on Thought Catalog, I’m agreeing to humor the author for a little while.  I will read what he has to say by understanding his words as he means them.  ‘Blue’ may not simply be blue.  ‘Blue’ could be anything from the clouded cobalt of a boy’s pretty eyes to a sunken hue in a midnight sea of sadness.   I try to accept the whole story of the author’s every word.   

Have faith in your narrator.  She’s trying to tell you something worth hearing.  Slip into her brain and hear her story as she means it.  Think in her thoughts, see in her colors, hear the world as it sings to her.  

Buy into my dramatic overreaches and the honest sincerity of my cliches.  Please don’t roll your eyes.  Understand just how genuinely and precisely I mean each nuanced word I choose.  Understand me.  Believe in me. 

“Well, now that we have seen each other," said the unicorn,
 "if you'll believe in me, I'll believe in you.”
Lewis Carroll

Language is just that powerful.  You can use it to let people come so close to you.  To invite someone to inhabit your own mind with you is, I think, the most intimate gesture you could ever make.  

Dear reader, I invite you into my life with each word I write, speak, or sing.  We can revel together in everything the world has to offer.  That’s all I really wanted to tell you: I’m blushing and flattered that you’re here with me.  

Boston Is

Boston is beautiful the first time you see its skyline from the Mass Pike ramp, and every time you see it after that too.  It’s crisp and cool, cobblestoned and historic, a metropolis for the young with a life story older than Paul Revere.  

Boston is an invigorating jog along the Charles by day or a scenic stroll by night.  It’s the posh shops of Newbury a block away from the landmark churches of Copley Square.  It’s the crooked streets and eerie cemeteries and old-town ambience of the North End. It’s all the college students living in an eclectic collection of colored houses on Mission Hill.  It’s the esteem of the Financial District next to the bustle of Downtown Crossing next to the enigma of ivy-veiled brick houses on Beacon Hill.  It’s a tapestry of storied neighborhoods and locales, each with their own history and subculture.  It’s stone cold outside, but with a warm hearth inside.  It’s the definition of New England. 

Boston is a sleepy Saturday morning watching TV with five roommates who don’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s company.  It’s retelling (or piecing together) last night over a strong cup of coffee, maybe over someone’s stash of Starbucks grinds if it’s a really good story.  It’s a stockpile of inside jokes that don’t make sense in conversation with anyone else.  It’s the collection of quirky posters and far-fetched memes I’ll never understand decorating the boys’ apartment like a modern art museum.  It’s the Tremont Street Raiders and the Sticky Six (though there are nine of us these days).  It’s getting all dolled up for the Symphony.  It’s a list of bizarre nicknames following increasingly bizarre stories.  It’s knocking on a friend’s door to say hello and staying hours longer than you meant to.  

Boston is an immeasurable number of bear hugs when you’re coming or going.  It’s a geographical coordinate that keeps us together in spirit when we’re separated by zip codes and state lines and oceans.  It’s a conglomeration of people from as far away as Australia and as local as Bridgewater, or as foreign as Kentucky and as familiar as Brooklyn.  It’s a communal agitation toward the T after midnight.  It’s a collective reverence for J. P. Licks.  

Boston is too much Dunkin Donuts coffee and not enough Starbucks.  It’s a convolution of streets named with no rhyme or reason, except for a small alphabetical grid in Back Bay.  It’s Newbury instead of 5th Avenue, a ‘theater district’ instead of Broadway, Symphony Hall instead of Lincoln Center, and the Common instead of Central Park.  It’s conservative and commemorative.   

Boston is, like anything else in the world, a subjective experience.  It’s a Chicken Cordon Lou from Chicken Lou’s for someone like it’s a Sunrise at Pavement for the next guy.  

Boston feels like home.  It’s manageable.  It’s got plenty of foliage, for a city.  It’s full of vibrantly blooming lives, too.  It’s welcoming.

Boston is not home, though, and never will be.  It’s just a love affair that I’m having, and a tragic one at that.  I’m enamored with everything about Boston: the city, the people, and the lifestyle.  Part of why I love Boston so much at this point in my life is the imminent certainty that I will never settle there.  Right now there’s so much to explore and test and find, but that all will run out one day.  In the end, I know New York is the city for me.  And so Boston means much more to me right now.  

What was I thinking then, running away to a beautiful, irresistible city for college, meeting the most extraordinary people, and having the time of my life, for a limited time only?  Well, Boston took me by surprise.  I had no idea I could fall so in love with it after growing up in New York.  Now my heart aches all over again every time I have to leave.  This love affair is indeed a tragedy.  It’s not the Romeo and Juliet type of tragic, although it certainly feels that way at times.  No, I know we’ll move on from each other in the end, Boston and me.  We’re closer to a 500 Days of Summer tragedy.  Boston is the experience of a lifetime, but with an expiration date circled on the calendar.  There will be bigger and better things one day.  For now though, I don’t look so far ahead.  There’s a commute into Manhattan waiting for me, but for the moment I’ve still got my eyes on the Green Monster, the Citgo sign, and the Boston skyline.  

Top Twelve Memories of 2012

We all know the entire ordeal of 2012 has been a whirlwind of a time.  Here are things that will make me smile most to look back on:

12) HUSKY HUNT

Some hated the Hunt, some slept through it, and some even went mysteriously missing.  I’m a competitive and enthusiastic person, though, so I took it seriously and went hard, going on a two-hour walk (getting romantic with Meredith under an archway in a park--Sorry, Eric), a six-hour bike ride through Cambridge in the coldest hours of night (spying a rather beautiful sunrise), and a 5-hour walk through Beacon Hill (encountering men dressed as a vampire gangster, a smoking Santa, and a hot dog).  The Rubik’s Cubes (Shannon, LV, Mer, Eric, Laura, Ryan, Al, Andy, Harrison, Joe, Aimee, and myself) did a lot of bonding, invented some creative Lion poses, and placed at a proud 28 out of 50.

11) Fiction of the Year

I need a broad topic to acknowledge a few things I fan-girled over this year: Doctor Who, Rod McKuen’s poetry, and How I Met Your Mother, plus how I reaffirmed my love affair with Harry Potter.  The Whovians of Northeastern (Laura, Lauren Belle, and Mer) turned me onto the BBC show Doctor Who in 2011, but it wasn’t until this year that I watched the 2005 Revival in its entirety.  I am enamored.  Like many, Ten is my favorite Doctor--his cheekiness, arrogance, and scientific, timey-wimey jargon never fail to delight--but I adored Eleven’s relationship with Amy and Rory and cried as though real people died at the end of The Angels Take Manhattan.  Plus, after converting Eric into a more obsessed Whovian than I am, we explored some Scarf-y Fourth Doctor silliness.  It’s an excellent show.  I apologize for losing many of you in that rant.  On a more lovey-dovey note, I fell in even deeper amour 
with the poetry of Rod McKuen.  Don’t take my word for it, just check his books out.  I’ll leave you with some sweet one-liners for inspiration: “I’ll stay awhile / and track the hidden country of your smile,” “I want to see the world within the circle of your arms,” and “You see how easily we fit together, as if God’s own hand had cradled only us.”  Go.  Read.  Bask in the Romance.  Delia and I discovered How I Met Your Mother this year and watch

Character pose!

 every episode together.  It’s our thing.  It’s a brilliantly crafted sitcom that I dwelled on enough in my Broken Jaw post.  Lastly, Andrea, Rebecca, and I rekindled our love for Harry Potter this summer by instating a book and movie club, culminating in a costume party double feature of the 7th and 8th movies: I dressed as Luna, Andrea as Dobby (complete with an authentic pillow case dress), Rebecca as Mad-Eye Moody, and even Jacqui donned feathers and hooted that she was Hedwig.  (Only my character survived.)  Danielle, Paige, and Christina made it to some events, and we even brewed Butterbeer.  Those nights MADE my summer.  

10) Classy Dinner Party

I think that that evening, which preceded Hurricane Monday, is a nice way to commemorate my friendship with the Duplex and generally how wonderful life is with the lovely ladies of WVF616.  My fantastic roomies humored me by helping make high-effort food (a.k.a. it required more work than just microwave preparation), cleaning (you could see the tabletop for the first time in WEEKS), and dressing all fancy for the occasion (not that they needed telling twice, those foxes!).  We had Mer, Belle, LV, Sarah, Laura, Shannon, Chris*, Nick, Charlie, Adam (1), and Adam (2) in attendance.  Lots of inside jokes were born, including those associated with hair gel.

9) North End Adventure

A freshman year classic.  On a whim, Sarah, Meredith, Lauren Belle, and I decided we’d love ourselves some Italian chow for dinner.  No one else was around to invite, so we just set sail for the North End, spawning jokes like “Two ships passing in the night,” Spite houses/babies, and immature playground silliness, in addition to scoring an awesome dinner at Cafe Pompeii.  We still sometimes reference that random adventure, just because it’s such a perfect example of the casual, random craziness of our little group of friends.

8) Sonata Arctica

What would even be the point of a Top 2012 list without the year's top music?  I finally got to see my favorite band in the world (literally, out of all world music), Sonata Arctica, live at the Palladium.  They're a Finnish power metal band that I've been in music love with since I was 16.  Andy took the trek to Worcester with me and we had a good time reconnecting on the long train ride.  Eric was kind enough to chauffeur us around the city, stating plainly that it wasn't a fantastic area to be walking around in at night.  The warm-up acts sucked and the venue was a frigid little cavern, but the band and their loud, melodic music, played at speeds to rival Olympian track runners, lived up to every expectation I've set for them in the last three years.  

7) Family Holidays

I can never stress enough how critical my family is to me every day of my life.  Of course there's my brother, who made me the sweetest Doctor Who themed Christmas card; my sister, who, though full of sass sometimes, still admits to missing me and needing help other times; my dad, who thinks in the same erratic patterns as I do and shares my affinities for coffee, Mulberry Street pizza, and the TNT show Leverage; and my mom, who never stops giving to her children and supports all the endeavors we undertake, from driving to and from rehearsals to cheering on the benches at a freezing November dek hockey game.  

Then, there's all the extended family we see at as many holidays as we can: Nonni, with her world-renowned Christmas cookies; Nonno, with the stern face he wears when he asks about boys; Aunt Terry, who always wore the silly Halloween sweatshirt and socks because I asked her to; Uncle Vic, who teases incessantly; Cassie, who we eagerly catch up with the few times we see her; Bella, who fits in as easily talking with the older cousins as she does making trouble with the little ones; Uncle Ettore, who we always seem to give Pannettone for Christmas; "Uncle" Paul, who said Hermi-one until I corrected him; Aunt Renee, with her sweet smile; crazy Robbie, who hasn't let me hug him since he was 3; Michael, who has not followed in Robbie's footsteps and still smiles for my pictures; Uncle Bruce, who might be the most patient person I've ever met; Aunt Michelle, who designates me babysitter for these holiday gatherings, since being around kids is "the best birth control, and you're old enough to be told this!"; Dario, who has the same voice as Uncle Bruce; Sebastian Pasquale, who's too little to be sassy yet; Uncle Frank, who apparently rolled under a couch as an infant; Uncle Gianni, whose eyes smile when he tells stories about his merry life as a bus driver; (Aunt Maria, who had the heartiest, happiest laughter I ever heard); Uncle Mark, who's young 

enough to make relatable jokes about the craziness of college but also old enough to whack me upside the head for the same craziness; sweet Aunt Angela, who we beg to make pecan pies to every holiday; Luke, the little cousin who's cute enough to get away with making mischief; Ava, who puts on my makeup when I'm not looking; Uncle Mario, who always says "Ciao, bella," when he hugs; Aunt Angela, who's been all over the world and shares my birthday; Aunt Grace, my scatter-brained, silly, and loving Godmother; Uncle Ignazio, who taught us to sing I Dodici Giorni di Natale; and Marianna, who's kind enough to still hang out with the kiddies even though she's thoroughly a grown-up these days.  

Mr. and Mrs. Gustav Samuel Johannes

And so on and so forth.  Any holiday.  Every holiday.  

6) Company

Go on, roll your eyes.  I wander around humming songs, I quote the lyrics whether or not anyone knows what I'm talking about, and I always cite it as one of the most interestingly interpreted shows ever.  Quite obviously, I'm actually just saying how lucky I was to be a part of Northeastern's fabulous production.  I'm lucky I had so many friends come see it and share the experience with me and I can't wait for the next one.  But seriously, give the show a shot.  

5) Freshman Year Move-Out

No, this wasn't a happy memory.  It was actually one of the saddest days ever, but that was purely because my freshman year was such a good memory--and I mean every minute of it.  The whole feeling of my first year as a Husky is mirrored in how sad I was to leave in April.  I was sad to see the end of all those fantastic times: Zombie musicals, late night Dominoes after MIT parties, hours in the piano rooms, gathering the usual suspects for dinner, movie nights, common room shenanigans, and Trojan War tactics are just a few of the ridiculous happenings that gave flavor to my freshman year.  Moving out was a sad day because it would be the end of those times, but the sadness only reflected how fantastic a year it was.

4) Woodloch Pines

I've written an entire blog about this beautiful little patch of the universe already.  If you don't understand how it can be such a monumental cornerstone in the lives of my family and the Schizzanos by this point, then I can't help you understand anymore.  

3) Getting My Braces Off

The joy of being officially done with all things dental (save for wearing a retainer very night) far exceeded the irritation of my gums bleeding for a few days.  That day was a reflection of all the things my family and I had survived: a year of braces and surgical wires, a six-hour surgery, the most horrible night in the hospital, and weeks of numbness and an all-liquid diet.  Well, I'm still numb, but in the scheme of everything else, I'll take what I can get.  We survived!

2) Delia's Sweet Sixteen

I've written a whole blog on this one too, which you should check out if you haven't.  Here's an abridged version: When a Sweet Sixteen is done right, it's both a party and an emotional experience.  We had a fantastic time at Delia's, dancing and singing, watching the video her friends prepared as a surprise, her emotional candle ceremony (I cried my fake eye lashes off), and taking pictures with the beautiful birthday princess.  We had all of Delia's friends in attendance, plus Chelsea, Sydney, Mr. & Mrs. Schizzano, Miss Denise the ballet 

ACTUALLY a fairy princess.

teacher, all the Brengel cousins (even if the boys were being difficult about dancing), Justin (who let us put a pink crown on him for half a second), the Miliones, the Finellis, and Ginger.  We had our traditional eating leftover food and opening gifts into the wee hours of the morning session afterwards.  It certainly was a fairy-tale of an evening with the whole family.






And the biggest, most monumental moment of my 2012?

1) Moving In for Sophomore Year

I remember crystal clearly that when we drove over the I-90 bridge and the city of Boston came into view, Big City Nights by the Scorpions was playing and I was giddy with excitement to see all my Huskies again.  Maybe I didn't know exactly what was in store for the year but we all knew if it was anything like last year had been, every day would be an adventure.  And every day has been a greater adventure than the last, filled with Photo shoots, Mixfest, TV Show Viewing Parties, Aquarium detours, Birthday dinners, Boston Pops concerts, Holiday festivities, getting dressed up to go teach other's concerts, and  random city excursions.  What's most special about life at Northeastern, though, is how sitting at home playing Cards Against Humanity, improvising ridiculous song lyrics, watching Trapped in the Closet, playing enough music to peel the skin off my fingers, having random dance breaks, or even just catching up on each others' lives over a bowl of cookie dough is just as fulfilling as any big adventure.  I can't confine all the laughing, nerding-out, dancing, teasing, screaming, craziness of life at Northeastern into one concise memory, so instead, my top memory from this year is the giddy anticipation I felt that day in the car for all of the times that would be had.  I can't thank my mom and dad enough for supporting me in my decision to be a Northeastern Husky and I couldn't be more blessed to have met the fantastic people that I did. 

Thank you EVERYONE in my life for all the wonderful things you gave me this year.  It certainly wasn't an easy year, what with a broken jaw, a hurricane, losing two elderly aunts, and the lamentable loss of a friend.  I truly don't know how I'd have gotten through without the support, advice, and warm embraces of all my family and friends.  My resolution for 2013 is to give as much back to you all as you've given me.  



*Editor's Note: Chris dislikes when I refer to him as Chrissy.

A Smattering of the Many Things I'm Grateful For this Thanksgiving

Christmas Trees     Chuck Palahniuk novels     Live music     Spotify     Jello     Mom's homemade mashed potatoes     Late nights watching How I Met Your Mother with Delia     The Thanksgiving Day Parade     Considering myself a part of two of the most beautiful cities in existence     Holy Cross Roman Catholic Church     Doctor Who     How Dad never complains about picking me up from the city     That Sandy killed my backyard but left my house and family in perfect health     The incredible amount of support I've had from countless friends and family lately     Starbucks     Gustav, the most beautiful bass I could have asked for     Halloween candy     Being a part of Company     Every tiny, insignificant thing about Northeastern     That I didn't make the kick line team in ninth grade and became a music kid instead     Slippers     My adorable little cousins     The advice and guidance from my older cousins     Skiing     Drummers     Flat irons      Shredded cheese     Harry Potter books     That of all thirteen schools I applied to, I ended up at Northeastern University     Husky Hunt     Crepes     The Pep Band     Nutella     Northeastern Hockey Games     That Nonni and Nonno and Grandma Mary are healthy and happy as ever     Lifeteen     Seinfeld     e.e. cummings poetry     Cozy sweatshirts     The friends who hugged me when I cried at the cemetery yesterday     Buona Sera garlic knots     That Alice in Wonderland exists    Musicals in and about New York City     My correctly aligned jaw     That my parents met and fell in love and got married and had me to begin with     That Laura is so accommodating about my messiness and wacky music schedule     Wedges and high heels     That 2 am no-boundaries conversation with Meredith the other night     Chinese food     Bruce Springsteen music     Nerdfighter culture     New York pizza     Being Italian     That Eric texts me goodnight, every night    That I loved Smithtown High School West so much     Pit orchestras     Flip Flops     Breaking Amish   Aunt Grace and Uncle Kenny, my godparents     That Chris, Charlie, Peter, Lauren V, Lauren B, Laura, Ryan, Sarah, Andy, Harrison, and Alfred came to see and hear me in Company     Blogger     Disney magic     That Chris would rather spend three hours tutoring me in Stats than be bored while I spend one hour at the professor's Office Hours     Yearbooks     Everything I learned from Aunt Maria while she fought cancer     Billy Joel     Mr. Nolan's English class     EVERYTHING from the Romantic Era     Easter eggs     That I could have made things work at any university, but that things just work beautifully at Northeastern     Delia's dance recitals     Andy's unbiased and unabashed honesty and advice     That Christie, Brianna, and Alissa are at Northeastern too     David Tennant     My beautiful and sexy 616 apartment and even sexier roommates     That Alaric gives the best hugs known to humankind     Orange soda     How beautiful everything looks when it's snowing     Holiday decorations     That Mom cares enough to bug me for every detail of my life     That I've had my heart broken so few times     The unfathomable potential of every human being     Board games     Chick flicks     My room at home     All the wonderful things Sarah bakes     The picture perfect memories from the Last Day of High School, Prom, and Graduation     That there's never been anything I can't confide in my sister     J.K. Rowling's entire life     Crappy magazines like Rolling Stone and Cosmo     Cheesy flamingo memorabilia     Woodloch Pines     My fairy-tale Sweet Sixteen and all the amazing things I learned from having it     That Lauren Bell never gets annoyed at me for asking for Accounting help     Husky Hunt the second time around    That Dad was so thoughtful to pick me up a 7-11 coffee this morning     Cinnabons     June Claire Dance Centers     That even though we're stressed like crazy getting ready to have 18 guests over, we do have 18 happy and healthy guests we love and can't wait to see     Wicked the musical, but also the book because it gave someone the idea for the musical     That Lauren V is always telling me how fantastic and perfect we all are     That Nothing Changes     That I have the two legs, feet, arms, hands, ears, and eyes; ten fingers and toes; and a nose, mouth, and brain that God gave me to appreciate the world with     Finnish power metal     Mark Twain's writing     Tampons     Eye lash curlers     Converse sneakers     Facebook     That Shannon visits so often even though she doesn't live with us     That Ginger could come to both my and my sister's Sweet Sixteen     When Mom gives me a back scratch     Harry Potter World     What the Pluck?!    Living next door to the Geriens     Marshall Half Stacks     That one time I got to play a Juzek bass in a hole-in-the-wall jazz shop     IV Dining hall pizza     Elevators, ramps, the wheels on my bass case, and all the sympathetic people that hold the door open     Eleven years of bus rides with Jacqui     Stetson East cookies     Every piece of music I've ever listened to and every piece that's waiting to be heard     That I have a bed to sleep in every night     Books and sheet music that smell old     Paws the Husky     That my family misses me when I'm gone, and that I miss them too     Fourth of July Fireworks     Italian ices     Everything that's caramel-flavored     Music     Too many perfect Blue Flamingo vacations to count     Rebecca's Cafe brunches with Christie     That Northeastern's campus is so beautiful, especially for a city school     The Charles River    That picture-perfect moment when Train was singing "Drops of Jupiter" and I was standing alone in the rain     The sights, sounds, odds, ends, and quirks of New York City     Every confused morning when the story of last night gets told to me     That Marianna is only ever a text away when I need her     That Delia asked me to be her sponsor     Twitter     Stephen Sondheim     That Uncle Vic married Aunt Terry     Apple picking as a family tradition     Woodloch crumb cake     That so many people cared enough to check on me this summer when my jaw was banded shut     That my jaw was banded shut and my liquid diet lost me fifteen pounds     Rubber ducks     Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky     The fantastic family vacations Mom and Dad work so hard to take us on     That I had my nineteenth birthday this year     102.3 WBAB     My mac     Grimm, Perrault, and Andersen fairy tales     That Gustav and I played at Staller Center, Carnegie Hall, and Lincoln Center together     Sade, my creamsicle colored bass guitar     That Delia still asks for my help picking out outfits     My crazy curly hair     Secret brand deodorant     Aerie underwear     Glitter glue     That I'm part of the Honors Program at such a good school in such a wonderful city     Rebecca's Cafe sandwiches     My job at Au Bon Pain     That I'm so in love with my major, literally every day of my life     The bright walls in my room     The Cousins Day we had at Lorella, Danielle, Bob, and Justin's this summer     Those vacations we took to Montauk with Aunt Angela, Uncle Mario, Marianna, and Alessia all those years ago     That Nonni and Nonno care about their time and resource-consuming grandkids as much as they do     All the Tooth Fairy, Easter bunny, and Santa Claus stories Mom and Dad fabricated so well for us     Cursive handwriting     That I was School President in fifth grade     That Mr. Roth, my middle school orchestra teacher, had such a positive influence on my appreciation for music     The Smithtown West Music Department family     That the twelve basses I was Section Leader to still call me Mom     Old photos     The Doll House Nonno made for me and Deels     That Nonni taught me how to sew     Grilled cheese sandwiches     Leonardo DiCaprio movies     All the hours they tolerate my presence in the Duplex     All the classy literature and art and music Danielle and I obsess over     Everything I learned my freshman year of college; in the classroom, about life, and about myself     The entertaining antics of Alfred and Harrison     My friendship with Mary, even if it's so much more difficult to maintain since she moved to North Carolina seven years ago     Sweet Sixteen Season     My twin, Brian     Thelemon-scented candle Mrs. Ralph bought me     The purple V neck that Richie wears     That Brianna, Rebecca, Danielle, and Sean called to check on me last Thursday     Ms. Riccoboni's Italian class     Winky, my little Nissan Altima that's as old as I am     Springy beds     Fan fiction     Bananas     That Mike is so good at pestering me to keep in touch with him     Family Gatherings on every Holiday we can     Lindt chocolate     New York bagels     Becca-Brina Christmases     That Tasha was an awesome freshman year roommate     The Blue Flamingo Tradition     The Northeastern bass family: Peter, Colin, Jason, and me     Cold weather     That Lauren kept me company when I sadly and slowly packed up my life in 933 IV last April     That Rebecca knows how much I love and need her, even when I'm God awful at keeping in touch     That Deels and Alex became friends, and then so did Sarah and I over a Play-Doh bakery in fourth grade     That Kimmie and I grew a beautiful friendship out of seeing each other once a week at tap class     Rod McKuen's writing     That Alyssa lived around the block from me in Kindergarten     Sudoku     Carlsson bass rosin     Centennial Quad     How beautiful and quirky Beacon Hill is     New England Clam Chowder     The memory of Deels and I staring jaw-dropped at each other when Daniel Radcliffe got hoisted into the air for the Opening scene of How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying     Condiments with Joanna     The Port Jeff ferry     Huntington Avenue     Upton Basses in Mystic, Connecticut     Diaries     My signed copy of Diary, the book     Reeds from Palm Sunday     Northeastern's Husky Hockey team and the hot hockey players     How beautiful Boston is     The T     The way Rebecca and Mike wiped away the tears during our last Adoration together     The fantastic inside jokes Paige and Danielle and I had in Mr. (CrapICan'tRemeberHisName)'s AP Euro class Tenth Grade     Harry Potter as a cultural phenomenon     Eoin Colfer and the Artemis Fowl series     Gas stations     Vanity Plates     Paved roads     That I've never had to go hungry     Charities     The BSO and Boston Pops     The Lilac-themed tea house Brian and I went to for lunch one time     The feeling of being a Goddess when you shave your legs     The color of Dan Frank's hair at prom     The Lifeteen Core that still inspire me     The amazing evening the five of us girls saw Legally Blonde together     That there's a Heaven waiting for all the loved ones I've lost     Rosaries     That Aunt Maria, Aunt Ruth, Uncle George, Grandpa Ken, and Katie will always be a part of me on some level     The feeling of being hugged by someone who loves you     The number of family members and friends I love and who love me back     The way two people's faces light up when they see each other after a long time apart     All the things I take for granted     Every kind of love

And most importantly, I'm thankful for everyone I've ever met because whether you suspect it or not, you've influenced me along the way to becoming the person I am today.  I can't thank you enough for helping me into living the life I do.  

Thank you.

Mirror, mirror? And lots of Capital R Romance.

I am entirely undecided on how I feel about the season finale of Pretty Little Liars.  "A Day" came and it was so, so close to obeying the books... sort of.  In some ways the books were better, and in some ways the shows were.  It's under review until next season.


Also, their music supervision team went bananas in the last few episodes.  It's like they suddenly realized that field existed after paying it no attention for a season and a half and then jumped in without knowing anything about how to handle it.  The only appropriate music was soundtrack "scary" music and the lyric-less, melancholy tune that went with the credits.


A nun came into work yesterday to buy a salad.  She paid entirely in singles.  Isn't there kind of a connotation that comes with that....


Do you ever look at yourself in the mirror and want to laugh?  I'm just an absolutely ridiculous excuse of a human being.  I'm not complaining, but how does anyone in the world take me seriously?  I have a hunch that no one really does.


On an unrelated note, I've never tried this, but seduction by cupcake sounds like it'd be a fantastic idea.  Who could resist a cupcake?


There's something that's just Romantic about the warm weather.  You don't need a partner to feel it.  All you have to do is love yourself and your own life.  I promise.


Sometimes, though, I just want to disappear.  Just lay on my bed and melt into it, or throw myself down on the grass  and get lost there.  If I don't want to look in a mirror, or feel embarrassed, or regret something, I just wish I could put myself in some little corner of the world where no one can find me for a little while.  And then I think about how many other people are probably feeling the same way.  We all just need a touch of redemption for anything we're not proud of.  We just need someone to tell us it wasn't our fault, or that we're still loved.  I want to be able to crawl back out of the hole I just dug for myself and throw my head back and arms out and shine.


I'm a romanticist, remember? What keeps life interesting is the possibility of having your dreams come true, after all.


So pretty much, I use this blog to get rid of the extra thoughts that cloud my head sometimes.  Like a ton of two-line vignettes just spilling out in whatever order my brain wants to get rid of them.  And sometimes, people are pretty entertained.  I'm flattered.  You should clear out your head too.  Send your thoughts back to me!  In a text or comment or Facebook message... I don't care who you are or how well we do or don't know each other.  No awkwardness, scout's honor!  I wanna quit having one-sided conversations with myself.  I HAVE AN EXCELLENT IDEA.  Send me a mailing address and I'll send you a letter!  Regardless of whether we're in different states or even down the hall at the same school, I WILL WRITE YOU A REALLY FUN LETTER IF YOU SOMEHOW GIVE ME YOUR ADDRESS.


I'm speaking directly to you, dear reader.  I know you want to look around and say, "Who, me?" assuming I mean the closer friend who read this and answered me already, or the really distant friend I want to reconnect with, but I don't.  I mean you, reading this right now.   


I promise I'm not desperate for friends, but guys, this is going to be awesome.

As Dreamers Do.

Generally speaking, this has been an excellent week home.  I've gotten to see and talk to and hug so many of the people I've been missing, like Brian, Mike, Chelsea, Sarah, Sean, Eric, and the ENTIRE Lifeteen congregation.  Do you ever get that feeling that your body may actually explode because your heart swells so much to fit all your happiness inside? That's been my last six days, and it's beautiful.


Lunch with Brian was wonderful, as we never got to have one over Christmas break.  Favorite quotes of the day:
Me: "How many bass players does it take to change a light bulb?"
Brian: "It depends how much weed they have."


"It can be explained by a diagram of the diffraction of light.  Except in your case, it's the diffraction of a bullet.  And the distribution of them."


"The time has come to pick something off the menu and enjoy it.  Not eat it!  Just enjoy it."


Twins <3




Meanwhile, the drive to Chelsea's school with Sarah and Christie was full of excellent banter and girl talk, as was our lunch date at Panera.  Trouble is, you can't be nearly as loud or as honest in public, so we relocated to a nice deserted picnic table.  Cheers, girlies.  




There is a small part of me that is heartbroken.  I very much enjoyed making the candle holders for Delia's Disney Princess themed party, and blast Disney classics via Spotify whenever I work on something party-related.  I decided the other night was the night to watch a Disney classic, so I went for Snow White since it's one of the Princesses for the party and it was the predominant movie of my childhood.  I put the VHS in the VCR... and it got eaten.  Since I had to physically pull the tape out, I was actually the one to break the tape.  I cried.  I feel like I've personally murdered Snow White with the huntsman's dagger.  


The obvious move was to put in Pinocchio, another childhood classic.  What do you know, the first advertisement to come on is for Snow White.  Ouch.


That movie is so stereotypical in its portrayal of Italians.  Stromboli's Italian ramblings actually have Italian in them, just incomprehensible Italian.  Also, the Blue Fairy is totally Marilyn Monroe.  And Jiminy absolutely cat calls at her.


And on that note, now is a good time for a Disney-instigated rant on the sacredness of childhood.  I have very capital R Romantic tendencies-- think Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, Hoffman, Shelley, Wordsworth, and Coleridge--and many of these apply to the natural wonder and beauty that are childhood, for the Romantic Era was about faith in untamed nature and feelings, not in knowledge.  There is something inherently beautiful about childhood, perhaps because it's so dependent on nature and feeling.  The Disney Classics all draw upon these in their development.  Although Disney gets a lot of crap for its stereotyping and its less than worthwhile messages, it somehow still ignites the same feelings of grandeur and the power of imagination that are emphasized by Romantics.  This may have a lot to do with Disney's gift for excellent scoring.  (Reader, if you're familiar with my blogs, you're aware how dangerous it is to let me openly ramble about music and yet here we go.)  
I suppose a better question is whether my childhood memories of Disney movies, and consequently Disney's classic hits--think Someday My Prince Will Come, When You Wish Upon A Star, Once Upon A Dream--make these songs meaningful for me, or whether these songs are what make my attachment to Disney so profound.  Just Googling "Disney's Greatest Music" brings you to a page of Disney's Top 100 Songs.  Even the last page, numbers 76-100, is filled with songs I know and love.  Of course the top twenty five are undisputedly the best, including Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty Waltz, now called "Once Upon A Dream," the classics listed above, Part of Your World, and A Whole New World, which was apparently playing when I was born.  Listen to these, or look at their lyrics.  They will all take you somewhere else entirely.  They draw upon wishes that we have in our hearts, however illogical or silly, and let us dream openly about them.  And so Disney's masterpieces foster imagination and the ability to dream and love and everything that's important in childhood.  And so Disney is beautiful.




On a vaguely related note, I am an expert at making bows.  I made seventeen for the candles, but each of those seventeen consist of one tulle and one ribbon bow, each tied with wire, then tied together, and then tied to a glass candle holder.  Each one takes like a half hour to make.  I'm just a wizard.  Also, Bow is the name of my street and it just feels like destiny.


Lastly, I finished Season Five of Doctor Who and I had to watch each part of the season finale twice to fully get what was going on.
"Something old, something new, something borrowed something blue; I remember you, Raggedy Doctor and YOU ARE LATE FOR MY WEDDING!"
Spoilers ;)