If anyone still reads this...another cultually exciting day in North Philadelphia

 
 After an anything-but-blissful morning, causing myself physical and emotional pain with a bassoon, and forgetting both my wallet and keys in my apartment I had had about enough.  Ready to collapse into the fetal position on our industrial (and surely bacteria ridden) couch, as I opened the door - leaning on it to open due to a lack of motivation and energy - I was enveloped in a cloud of fumes that could have only come from freshly baked cookies.  Had I closed my eyes I could have believed I was sitting in my Gramma's house on Christmas Eve.  I could feel the stress melt away. Thank God for cookies and baking. And my room mate thanks God for me - because she can't bake worth a damn. 

Halfway through making a second batch of buttercream icing, we ran out of powdered sugar. Oh, we also ran out of milk and eggs. Easy solution since we live next to a grocery store. Call me a woman, I love going grocery shopping. It's therapeutic. Grocery shopping in here in North Philly usually gives me the same happy satisfied feelings inside..but a little different. This is after all, the city of brotherly love. Take that as you will, it's true. My cultural experience of the day occurred as I walked past a Muslim man on my way to Fresh Grocer. At 4:30 on the dot I saw him roll out a rug and begin to pray. I always knew Muslims prayed 5 times a day, but growing up in a tiny rural town I had only ever knows a couple Muslim kids who were not very strict in their practice. Perhaps the best word to describe my situation there is intrigued. I think I might take a Muslim culture study for my religion GenEd...
Sauntering down the fruit aisle, I stop to look at the strawberry prices.  Here at good ol' FroGro produce, especially fruit, is overpriced. "$2.99". No strawberries today. The middle aged woman next to me had a similar reaction to my own, shaking her head as she picked up apples instead. I recommend she go to the Italian Market where I buy them at about fifty cents a box. She thanked me, but explained she didn't drive and traveling by subway was difficult for her at the age of eighty-one. WHAT? "Ma'am, you're not 81, you can't be," "I swear I am!" she replied adamantly. 
I swear black people don't age.
The rest of my adventure in FroGro was pretty ordinary. Oh, except for the guy with a handgun shoved obviously in the side of his waistband. Isn't it called a concealed weapons permit? (Keepin' it classy I see...keepin' it classy.) Laden down with groceries (there was a sale on soy milk), I hobbled outside with the plastic bags digging into my hands when I heard "HEY MA YOU NEED HELP WITH THEM BAGS?" You get used to this after a while, and learn to not look and just keep walking. Even though I did want to yell back "DO I LOOK LIKE YOUR MAMA?" Three steps. "HEY BABY GIRL YOU NEED SOME HELP?" Step, step, step, step. 
I got home just in time to save my room mate's latest batch of cookies. Now I'm here with her, her male friend from some physics class, and my man, getting down with some Latin tunes. My life - North Philly style.
 Eso Ehh - Alexis y Fido

For the children I will maybe have possibly theoretically someday far in the future if that ever happens...

 Because I care, and love you even though you don't exist and may never exist, I will personally take it upon myself to ensure you have the best music teachers and directors the area has to offer. Or we will move. 
Sitting in my Music Ed. classes, I take a daily look around the room (if my eyes are open enough) and examine the young future music educators around me. Some, I've walked up to and informed them of my hope that they will be the one to instruct my theoretically-possible-maybe-someday-in-the-future-child. They have a passion and a talent for both music and teaching and combine the two with the utmost ease and perfection. It is these people who will to educate my children.
These are the thoughts that run through my mind when the idiot next to me probably can't manage to educate himself, much less the future youth of America.

Antisocial

 

I'm not going to even attempt to sugar coat this. When I'm here in the cafe there's nothing better than just being left completely alone and therefore in my own little world. But what is a girl to do when people are sitting all around the table that are just a tad too weird for my own good? Being in an school for music and the arts, these types of people are more common than not. 
Easy solution. Plug in your Beats , crank up the volume on your "Zen Out" Spotify playlist and look like there's intense work to be done. (Like this blog. I think it's pretty intense, eh?)
Then comes the wonderful relaxing feeling of being in your very own matrix. A world has now been created completely for one's self, by one's self. Enjoy this magical place.

I almost forgot to add music!!!!!
Apartment - Young the Giant 

da new baby

Sunrise over Philly. I wish I could take credit for this photo.

Ok so I was a little blown away that anyone actually reads this...
But for those of you who do, every time I mention a band or song, the name is a link (usually to YouTube) where you can listen to it. Maybe it'll set the scene a little more for you. Ok or maybe it'll just be a song you listen to 30 seconds of. Either way, check it out. Hmmm...what to listen to now...something laid back for the morning like Pusher Love Girl - Justin Timberlake

Night Owl

My nights at Presser.

Night Owl - Little Big Town

That moment when you know you're at the exact place you should be. This realization has occurred to me before, but it came to me again last night after my late night practicing in Presser. And again this morning during one of my classes. I don't dread going to class at all. I am living the freaking dream. My homework? Practicing. What do I do when I'm stressed? Play. So, in essence, my homework is to relax. Biggest. Win. Ever. 


Now I just need to get a job once I graduate....

Living in the Moment - Jason Mraz

Chris' Jazz Cafe

Not the best photo, I'm aware. Still. Get here.

LISTEN TO THIS. JUST DO IT. <----(click on the link here to listen to "Destiny")
I can't say anything negative about this place. Ever. I love when people say to me "so have you ever been to that Jazz place in the city? Chris'?" My response: "That's my spot!" This either is or should be anyone and everyone's place for a fancy date, a lazy night just listening to jazz munching on some sweet potato fries, or just somewhere to enjoy time with close friends, amazing food, and even better music.  The cover price in my experience has been between $5-$15 and usually on the cheaper end of things if you bring your college ID along. 
 If you're a Philly native or merely passing through, a visit to this locale (what appears to just be a hole in the wall from the outside) on Sansom street is a must. But please, look presentable. The performers are pouring out their heart and soul for you, so the least we can do as an audience is be tolerable to look at. Advocate for the arts. This is one of the last places to see live jazz on a regular basis in Philadelphia - a city that used to be filled with this soulful music on nearly every corner.
 In a crazy city, Chris' place makes my life feel a little more homey amidst the chaos of sirens, the subways screeching metal against metal, and blocks out the "city smell" of subway, urine, fresh cigarettes, and stale weed that has permeated any porous surface it could come into contact with. Beautiful, isn't it?

Lawrence Jones - The Flute Player from Friday Night at Chris'  - check out his website. He does this awesome thing when he switches between vocals and flute and sax. Give it a listen.It was so good I bought a CD. I don't do CDs usually, so this should be a good sign.

Daily Dose of Food Porn

Tofu with orange glace, breaded and curried fried polenta.

Let the Groove Get in - Justin Timberlake

Jazz

 

"Playing classical music is like reading a book - Jazz is having a conversation" 

A Day in the Life

Sir John - Blue Mitchell

My life.

Just sittin'

For those of you that immediately associate Philadelphia, Temple, or North Philly with dirt, grime, murder, and other various horrible things, I beg of you, look at this picture. Have you ever seen a more beautiful intercity day? You haven't. You're welcome.
Just so you know, there's a guy around the corner selling one of the most diverse collections of posters I have ever seen - all while playing some of the best music to accompany and enhance the atmosphere of this incredible day.
Satisfaction - The Rolling Stones

Eating on a College-Sized budget...easier than you think.

Enjoyed this delicious menagerie of Italy with a side of Jazz like Affair in Havana - Dexter Gordon. You should do the same.

For those of you who are college students, will be shortly, or even parents of those students, listen up. What are you paying for your meal plan? At Temple U, the average meal plan will cost you about $1,400 on top of your tuition and housing per semester. Not per year, no. Semester.
So I got thinking to myself, how much do I even eat? I'm a pretty petite person, so unless I have friends over I don't need to make much for myself. The only advantages of the meal plan are that you a. don't have to cook and b. can eat as much as you want. Freshman 15 anyone? No thanks. I don't care how late the gym is open if you just ate four hot dogs, fries, a slice of pizza, ice cream, and a salad to round it out. 
My plan: How much would I pay per semester in food (as in groceries) without a meal plan? First of all, I'm a pretty competent cook. Second, I'm a girl. If I'm going to go for dinner somewhere nice I probably won't be the one paying. Call me old fashioned, I just think it's polite for the man to pay. 
So, each month when the credit card bill comes in the mail, I simply record how much I spend in food purchases. At the end of the semester we'll see how it measures up against the traditional college-eating style.
Stereotypical as it may be, I love grocery shopping. Not only is it exciting to plan and make a meal, but it's also a nice slice of time I can just zone out between the rows of organic oranges and freshly harvested asparagus (though asparagus is heading out of season at the moment). Bliss. Saturday morning however, was not the typical shopping experience at the local Fresh Grocer. As many Philadelphians know, Saturday is market day. Italian style. 
Upon our arrival to the bustling street (South 9th) we had quite a problematic time deciding where to start. Ohh but I had my list. Fresh berries, blueberries a box for a dollar, a huge bag of basil surely picked earlier that morning was only a buck and some change. This my dear friends, is where the budget shopper needs to go. Well, until you get to the meat and cheese shops where the bulk of my grocery shopping took place. The butchers here are legit. Really. I thought I was back in the old country - even felt a little peculiar speaking English. The best place in the whole market is actually a little indoor joint that only sells about 100 kinds of cheese (at least), and cured meats, olives, preserves, and oils to accompany each flavor.  To fully live up my mini-vacation I had to buy some unpitted olives (so much better than their nasty counterparts with everything taken out of them but salt), cured meats, a few different kinds of cheese, a bottle of good balsamic infused with raspberries, and of course a loaf of freshly baked bread. 
As any cook or friend knows, food can only be properly enjoyed in the company of good people. Because I couldn't quite justify going all-out on a dinner just for myself, my best friend and I surprised her boyfriend with a gourmet meal to feed a small army.  Needless to say, I now have copious amounts of gourmet leftovers in my fridge. Not complaining.

Amazing food, great music, and the best of friends. Making TU classy one dinner at a time.

Home

Home - Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros

There is something to be said in making a new home. What exactly differs home from just a place you reside? While sometimes I have found adjustment to a new location difficult, once settled into a routine the feeling of home is almost instantaneous. If I hadn't mentioned this before, I'm a student at Temple University in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. A transplant from rural Pennsylvania, the culture shock for me was more intense than being abroad.
In Germany, it took but a few days to completely settle in, get used to not hearing English, and sleep with all of the windows open thanks to the lack of air conditioning. While the language barrier may be intimidating to some, I was thrilled to have it and even more thrilled to watch it disappear as my German language skills progressed. Furthermore, and perhaps most importantly, I was with my family. My German "Opa und Oma" loved me as if I was their own granddaughter, and likewise I felt as though I had known them all my life. 
That was then. While I can't wait to scrape together the money for another plane ticket to the "homeland", this is my new home here in Philadelphia. Not just a place of residence, but home. The photo above is probably one of the most common sights for me during the day; sitting in the cafe of Presser (the music building) chatting, doing homework, listening to music. My new life is here. Good? Bad? This is not my kitchen table back home, nor my couch with my cat curled up next to me. But, I'd say it's a good thing that I'm here instead. I'm sitting on a bench of sorts surrounded by some of the most artistically and musically talented minds in the world; a peer to each and every one of them. How amazing is that? This room has an entire wall made of glass so natural light floods the room giving it a more natural feel than simply a cafe in the middle of Filth-a-delphia.
Home is where you make it, and I'm making mine here at Presser, 1200 Broad, and my practice room on the third floor with a view of the campus. This is home for me - I have a kitchen for god's sake.

Here we Go...

After keeping a pretty regular blog abroad, I have decided to continue writing here at "home" in Philly.  As a college student, the term home I find rather vague.  After class, I go home to my second floor apartment. My parents live at home - but a line begins to form between their home and mine. I won't even begin to go into the "homeland" interpretation. Some things to ponder there.

Some background on me. I grew up in a small town working in my family's restaurant, enjoying the outdoors as most of us in rural areas do. I love cooking, (which has proved very useful to both myself and the rest of the hungry people on my floor). I did well enough in high school to acquire a partial scholarship for the university I now attend, but instead of taking a more academic route, I decided to pursue my lifelong passion and study music. This shit is not easy.

So, in the next few months (maybe years, who knows at this point) this blog will serve as an outlet to tell some ridiculous North-Philly-style anecdotes, tidbits on my experiences in the city, and heaven knows what else. Stay tuned all. I like to write.