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Archive for August, 2011

In this brick-façade building of ours,
where murmurs in the arched entrance buzz
along with the resonance of emotion-heavy cello strokes,
where pastels blend in anomalous formations
into the g major chords of the honey-colored violins,
where eyelids carry us to distant lands
and eardrums make our hearts beat the way they do,
we have shed tears and worn smiles upon expressions upon expressions.
We have loved with our hearts, with our instruments,
with our blissful words.
We have danced with our souls and bodies,
sung with our voices and minds,
and spoken with our music.

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Tweet, Tweet

I have a Twitter now!

I feel almost complete with my repertoire of social media accounts.  Let’s see, all I’m missing is LinkedIn, Google Plus, Tumblr…erm, I suppose I’m still a little behind.

Now, I’m not necessary on Twitter to “tweet”, but I’m there to follow.  From Amy Chua to Darren Criss, it’s kind of fun just to see what these people are like.  Darren’s tweets are…cryptic, to say the least, but I suppose it’s an insight into a celebrity’s life?  Or maybe I’m just too obsessed.

Speaking of obsessed, anyone who’s spent time with me in the last few weeks has most likely noticed my very recent admiration with Ingrid Michaelson. I’ve been listening to her music for a few weeks, and already know all of her songs. That is devotion right there. Her tweets are by far my favorite. Just a taste of some of them:

  • “I hate when skinny, beautiful women say that they don’t exercise in interviews.  Either they are lying or they are very lucky.  But I doubt anyone is that lucky.  I want a hamburger now…”
  • “I don’t have a baby but I desperately want the baby bullet.”
  • “I just sang to the Obamas. I tried to make eye contact with each of them. Is that creepy?”
She’s my idol.


So, I just got back from Cape Cod.  A typical beach-vacation, nothing to think about but food & sleeping, not that I think about anything else in general anyways.  Actually food, in particular.  To be honest, I enjoy traveling because of eating–is that really, really bad?  Maybe that’s why Italy didn’t make the mark to my mind’s expectations.  But Cape Cod food is just….to die for.  Lobster, that’s where it’s at.  Lobster, lobster, lobster, I can’t live without that stuff.  The ice cream is good, very typical ice cream, but I suppose that tourists particularly enjoy it.  One night, the line of cars for a local scoop shop (“Sundae School”) blocked off an entire street….to the point where police cars had to come to guide traffic.  That, I believe, is an unnecessary obsession.  (But then again, so is Ingrid).  Ingrid & classical music were my tunes for the entire trip.  And my notebook was held tight to my chest everywhere I went.  I think the beach is remarkably inspirational.  But probably not.


Two weeks before the Cape, I was at Reveille, which is a week to kick off the season for the Vermont Youth Philharmonia.  From late night pizza to “parties” to sitting under my specially picked-out tree on the lawn, it was a rather…memorable….week.  I found that I, to my surprise, wasn’t sick of my violin after playing for hours and hours everyday.  In fact, I rather…enjoyed it.  I’m honestly a changed person.  But nonetheless, this makes me excited for our season.  If you’re in the area, you should come to our concerts because we are just fabulous!  I’ll probably be posting some dates later.  Our first real concert is August 29th at 7 at Elley Long in Colchester.  See you there!


And thus ends another incredible summer.  A week left, and an entire summer’s worth of homework as well.  But I have to say that this was probably one of the best summers I’ve had in a while.  I’ve made more friends and learned more than I could ever imagine during the school year.  From teaching myself the piano to putting together a play in two weeks to making a video game to mastering musical passages I could’ve never imagined to play, I feel like I’ve experienced more than I planned on.  And I’m wrapping up this week by spending extra time with all my friends, and attending concerts & rehearsals at the Lake Champlain Chamber Music Festival as a writer.  (My two favorite things: classical music & writing)


I’ll probably post before school officially starts.  But let’s just call this a final tribute to the summer of 2011.  Now to listen to more Ingrid….

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Elgar’s Cello Concerto in E Minor

Majestic golden doors open and hold a beauty,
stunning features, hair like sandy grains,
eyes like the ocean itself.
He is greeted in almost the same manner,
opposite doors, and completely oblivious to the delight
his eyes will discern.
In synchronized steps, each glide in,
bonded by heartbeats and separated by ball gowns and dress shoes.

Slowly, their barrier becomes more and more air,
and men and women dance like violins,
like cellos, oboes, clarinets,
and it isn’t until eyes lock that it is only the two of them,
surrounded by winds and strings and brass
who are mere guides for a blooming rose.

Arms link and sparks light the room in lieu of blissful candles.
The two are on unspoken terms,
eyes speaking rather than insignificant syllables.
They are still in rhythm to the cello,
to the violin, trumpet, and timpani,
as they glide away from the orchestra
into their own garden of fountains and flowers and singing lights.

They are connected by heartbeats,
closer and closer to each other
until the puzzle-piece curves
of their lips mend together to create one,
and fingers interlock to complete the puzzle.

In the ballroom,
violins, cellos,
clarinets, oboes,
horns, trumpets,
become dancing couples
trickling into the center one by one by one until the air
isn’t clear anymore.

And when majestic doors open the second time of the evening,
eyes turn and there are two.
In time,
they step-by-step to he center,
where the candles turn to them
and they dance intimately,
passionately,
lovingly,
until the moon trembles into the distance,
and the candles are outshone with sunlight.

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Cape Cod Blue

Pre-LCCMF writing, mostly written by the oceanfront.  

We are in infinite waters, baby,
submerged in sunbeam-glitters
and dancing waves that make music with the moon & earth.
We are in blue skies,
woven between Monet-stars and kindergarten-suns,
and sitting birds who have lost their flocks.

We are in cacophonies of A’s and E’s, baby,
G-chords and C-chords,
and as our lives meld into one,
we’re at the most significant fermata music has seen.

Baby, we are in hallows of this thing called love,
roped amongst fast-blooming rose petals
and synchronized heart beats,
and I hope the conductor never moves the baton.

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Dances of the Notes

The things orchestra camp inspires….

You don’t know what real beauty is until you hear music.
Across heartstrings, fingers dance with horsehair,
and it is the utterances of the heart,
of the mind.
Real beauty,
true,
legit,
it’s the music the soul makes,
the sound waves twisting and turning,
the smiles & cries,
happiness
love
angst,
a swarm of uncontrolled emotions.
Compelling, melodious, awe-inspiring,
nonexistent words to describe imperceptible feelings,
and the rest is beyond my lips.

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