Ariza, split pea soup, among other things

So yesterday, I blessed/endowed (either or both) my brother with a lovely visit in l.a.
Speaking of "l.a.", if someone says, let's meet in l.a., that's like telling someone let's meet in Nebraska. My point (which you hopefully) have understood by now, is that Los Angeles engulfs too much land, too many people and too much traffic to be an easy town where there is one central metropolitan area of the city.
Furthermore, I think that's the quality about L.A. that people either love or hate about this town. There are a lot of nooks and corners to it, and normally you need a vehicle to get from one interesting location to the next. And as consequential result, are stuck in 2 hours of mind numbing traffic.

So when I say, I met up with my brother in l.a. I "could" be referring to sunset boulevard or the ghetto of south east Compton (that is such an ignorant assumption, is that even a place?) I am specifically referring to the western part of the city of angels and sometimes during the course of the summer when I feel a sense of intoxication by my small childhood town (a completely normal feeling from my fellow peers I assure you) I hop into my Honda mobile and travel down to where it's "happening".

New trend watch: coffee shops not stamped with the typical mermaid green black set up are the new hot spots!

No, actually they're not, but my brother and I found ourselves doing our own respective reading/studies respectively on none other than a saturday night. Sadly, even the coffee barista was trying to ask why i was spending my Saturday night at such a location.
I can be so lame....I mean, er, productive with my time.

In all sincerity though I needed to get out of Thousand Oaks for a little while. After several hours of page flipping, reading, and spelling out french diction my brother and I manuevred down the street to jerry's deli to grab some late dinner.
The funniest part of going out with my brother is the fact that most people assume we are unrelated and therefore....well, you get the point. It's not my fault that I got most of the attractive genes... (muahahah).
Anyway, while downing my pea sized serving (no pun intended) of split pea soup a true Laker offender and traitor but attractive nonetheless Trevor Ariza walks in. Yes folks, so ensues the climax of my story.

To hopefully find a unifying theme with this blog is that sometimes the most random, useless events can put a smile on your face. I had a pretty crap of a day, but a change a scenery, some lukewarm soup and a basketball player's visit made it better.
So next time you are feeling rather intoxicated by your own nook of a hometown, let's meet somewhere in L.A.?

Dvorak and I

To say that "music is my passion" is probably the ickiest, most cliche, and redundant expression to describe how I feel toward this audible art, per say.
But suffice to say, it works well in expressing how I feel. Music. Singing, was always a part of my life, since I can remember.

i recall learning ode to joy on the piano by ear when I was probably 4, feeling quite the accomplisher as my brother didn't understand that if I hadn't "learned" the notes, how was I able to play it.

I am definitely not a musical prodigy, but dare I say it, I have pretty damn good ear. As most musicians should. I Shamefully remember belting out Whitney Houston Ballads (I will always love you, duh.) on the small slope of a hill in my backyard to my mom when she was cooking dinner when I came home from school.
At one stage of my pree teen growth into my adolesence I was so obsessed, with celtic, enya-ish music, I don't even know how to generalize it as a particular genre, that for four years I played that music in my bedroom every night when I went to sleep.

In retropsect, as a music major in college, with one year left to complete my Bachelor's do I finally understand the pieces of the puzzle that came together from my adolesence, that made me the music "fiend" I am now. I almost feel that my love for what I do as a classical vocalist has placed a pause button on my appreciation for a lot more music. I find myself listening to Dvorak or Ravelle or Mozart for hours, and then listening to it over again. Without being overwhelmed.

Is this normal?
Perhaps the fact that I always thought I was a bit weird is expanding into wider ground than expected.

One thing I do wish for (warning: slight tangent ahead) is that whom ever I choose to love, can understandand appreciate my neurotic attachment to this particular art. For what it truly is.

listen to Dvorak if you want to daydream off into your brain...that's my current recommendation, particularly 'strings serenade' moderato.

Why is it that, upon the brink of one's re energized attitude towards life (a bit of an exaggeration) that one is once again brought down not only to earth, but below earth, you know, so below the earth that you feel the earth plates moving.

Today, MSN.com decided that it wanted to inform me of my bleak and financially burdened future. What did it do to accomplish such a feat?

Not much.
one of the headlines on the websites main page was: the five lowest paying college majors. Can you guess what was at the very very bottom?

My major.
My beloved choice of education.
Perhaps, all the strange raised eyebrows from my Persian counterparts (particularly the parenal unit) is justified after all.

Music, according to msn.com will bring little to no income. YAY. this proves now more than ever that I' should either give up or bury the realistic attitude and strive for what I deem best for myself career wise; no matter what obstacles face ahead.

or, perhaps marry rich. You know, just to keep things above sea level?
unprogressive?

*sigh*...ok, fine. i will marry the man I love....(who just happens to be rich?).

If I have some sort of consistent behavior for five days straight.
That, (and Im speaking to you, world wide web) is an accomplishment.

let me delve into this in more detail. I am by default a cynic. It takes energy and effort on my behalf, to stay positive. Perhaps I sound like an old crippled woman who has witnessed only the most horriffic experience but truth be told I am only recently of legal alchoholic age, yet find myself pondering life's most dense questions, and only find myself freaked the hell out.

Have I had a difficult childhood stained with traumatic events?
Um. to say the least, no. In fact, I consider myself lucky (blessed, whatever) that I have two parents who unequoivically unconditionally love me more than themselves. No joke.

But here is where my story gets a tad more exciting. Story, or life glimpse, I suppose this blog is a means to an end in a way of expressing myself apart from the journal on the side of my bedstand.
A little over three years ago, my life changed.

I went to college. But guess what (surprise!). That's not exactly how my life changed.

Another tangent (which I swear) correlates with what I am about to endow on this entry makes sense, bear with me just a little longer. I watched Becoming Jane about a year ago, (a movie, folks) and one line struck a chord and kind of killed a part of me.
Ironically, this film is one of my favorites (yes I am one of those Austen loving females) get over it. But really, the father advises his daughter (yes, Jane Austen) to accept a marriage proposal to a less than exciting man that she has no , er, sexual or intellectual attraction to whatsoever. this man offers a comfortable and financially safe lifestyle: no ifs, ands, or buts.
Why does he advise this? Because, and I quote, "nothing kills the soul like poverty. "

Whoah. that's intense. And scary. okay this ties in with my big life changing blah blah. When I graduated high school, my dad decided to leave his position as a software engineer....something of that sort.
Now folks, I grew up with lessons (piano, voice), extracurricular classes, and vacations...essentially a standard of the upper middle class lifestyle, I grew up comfortably and was shallowly aware of money's value.

Long story short. My father has been unemployed since I graduated high school. I am about to begin my final year at college.

Things, to say the least are different.
They are unfamiliar, scary, frustrating, emotional and that particular quote from "becoming Jane" continues to haunt me....

I am only but wide eyed and confused. You are only but more welcome to join me in this realm of confusion.