Philadelphia

Desk.

August 19th, 2009

Dear Reader,

I apologize for having skipped almost a whole week of Entries. I got lazy, and distracted. Now this entry is focused mainly on my leaving Orlando. Every boy and girl in this world has that day when they leave the nest and all they know behind to persu what they believe is their path. This is my time to fulfill my hopes and dreams for my life. I will be leaving my home of 18 years Orlando Florida this coming Tuesday. I will be moving to Philadelphia PA, where I will remain for the next four years or so. My leaving is something I have anticipated for a very long time, seeing as I am less than satisfied with Orlando FL, no respect to any of my friends who currently reside there and enjoy it. Orlando was never the right fit for me, and I have a feeling the North will suite me just fine.

But this post is not about my likes, and dislikes, pertaining to Orlando. This is about leaving a place that is so familiar to you, for one you know virtually nothing about. Seeing as this is my last week in Orlando, I find myself oddly content with my situation. I had feared that I might change my mind and not want to leave the place where I had grown up. But instead I find myself wandering aimlessly through Orlando (Winter Park mostly) remembering times I had shared with those close to my, and wondering what would happen to my favorite spots once I had gone. I feel oddly nothing towards Disney, they stand now as they always have in my mind, the silent monarchy looming over the towns-people of Orlando with a happy facade. This is how I view Disney, as a group of people who smile so much all day that they go home to plot revenge against the child who asked where ‘Mickey’ is, or the fat English gentleman who wanted to ‘know where a man can get a pint’. But none the less I have a feeling they are not going anywhere, and shed no tears for leaving them far behind.

I look back at all the things that I enjoyed about my life in Orlando. My years reluctantly studying the Violin (Thirteen Years mind you), my failed attempt at piano when I was young, and my triumph at the piano almost ten years later after one day deciding that ‘it would be use-full’. But there are other things that hold a dear, dear, place in my heart. These consisting of my church, without whom I would not be the person I am today, thanks to all involved (Andy Cartee in particular), my years singing in various choirs and institutions since I was around 5. And I think most notably my brief currier at the Orlando Opera Company, with whom no amount of time could have been enough to satisfy me. It is with the Opera Company that I feel I must linger a moment. There are many many people who nurtured my growth as a person, and performer there who I should recognize. But none of whom are more important in this situation than Frank McClain. I ow Mr. McClain a great deal, It was him who made it possible for me to be involved with the Opera in the first place. And my gratitude to the wonderful people in the Opera Chorus, not to mention the amazing makeup staff, and our fantastic Stage Manager Rita.

On to the little things. I was sitting in the house the other day and suddenly had the urge to go to the store and buy some Candy. I went there and I bought Nerds, Sourpatch Kids, and Shock Tarts. I sat at home, watched the discovery channel. This was a throw back to my Saturday Morning routine as a child. One of the few memorable things I remember doing on a regular basis with my father was Saturday mornings. They consisted of the following:

6:00 am: Wake Up, go into the den, find Father was already awake and begin to watch discovery channel.

6:15 am: Ask Father if he would take me to the store to get candy. Father refuses, I make no remark.

6:30 am: Father is fully dressed and says “you better get ready fast, because I’m about to leave”. We go to store and buy Nerds, and Shock Tarts.

You see my father is a man who enjoys his authority, probably because everyone in this house is very independent and wont listen to him. So having me not remark on the fact that I was not going to get what I wanted at that moment, caused him to want to get it for me. This, unknown to him, was something I had long since figured out, and continued to use to my advantage for the following thirteen years.

But it’s moments like that, that make you smile, and remember what you enjoyed in this place. The place that you have called home for so long. The place you have now chosen to leave forever. Thought this home will always hold perminate real-estate in your heart, it will never again be home for you. It is your responsibility to do as your parents did and find your own place in this world, your own place to call home. Your Home.

August 13th 2009

I am, as you may have gathered, as literary many. A man who enjoys his books. but I am very particular, as to what kind of books I’ll read. I read mainly books written from the late 1800’s to about 1940. It is after said time that my knowledge of literature, and authors is almost Nil. And if you could just enter my room as it stands today, but will not be for much longer seeing as my younger sister plans to take it over the moment I have vacated. If you could enter my room you would see furniture of a dark wooden color. You would find things such as binoculars in leather cases sitting on shelves with globes, old trunks, and other items one associates with stern philistinism. And growing up in an environment such as this, I believe, has influenced the culture with which I best relate. Causing this peculiarity in the realm of literature.

I read mainly fiction, written in that “memoirial” style that was popular of that time. The type of writing where the author thinks they have fooled the reader into thinking that the character has nothing to do with the author simply because he has changed the name. But I do read History from time to time as well. It is important, I believe, to understand from whence one has sprung. And a cursory knowledge of this will always come in handy. But my first literary love will always be the writings of the, aptly named, ‘Lost Generation’. Which is of course consist of Hemingway, F. Scott, Stein, Joyce, and so on.. It is my great pleasure at this moment to tell you how I got caught up in this particular genre of Literature.

When I had reached the end of my Sophomore year in highschool I got a letter informing me that I had been chosen to sing with a touring group of singers, and an orchestra through Europe. I jumped at this opportunity to see portions of the world currently unknown to me and accepted. It was that summer that I spent one month touring Europe with 99 other singers, and musicians.

The day we arrived in Paris the city was ablaze with sunlight that penetrated the clouds like daggers. It had just stopped raining upon our arrival. And all I could think was “It must rain on your first day in Paris” something that Audrey Hepburns character had insisted upon in her movie Sabrina. I thought the fact that it had in fact been raining when I arrived to be a sign that great things would come out of that day. And I was correct, there were many occurrences that day that will forever be engraved on my memory, and have influenced myself as a person. But none more important than my discovery of the bookstore Shakespeare & Company.

I say that I discovered it, when in reality I knew where It was the entire time, and had every intention of arriving there as soon as humanly possible. Needless to say I eventually dragged a couple of my friends along, to meet the required three person rule, and found the famed bookstore. Now to those who are not already aware Shakespeare & Company was the notorious hang out of the lost generation during the 1920’s and after. I could on all day about the history of the bookstore, but I have chosen to spare you, that is a story for another day. When arrived at the bookstore I wandered aimlessly through the maze of shelves and eventually stumbled upon a piano. After a short performance of Gershwin’s ‘An American in Paris’ (short because the peddles didn’t work on the piano and I could not stand play it any longer) I realized that I had run out of time and had not found a single book to buy. I ran to the front of the bookstore where a young british woman sat, nose in book, and requested she recommend me a book to read that might have something to do with Paris. She walked from behind the desk to a large stack of books oddly placed in a corner and selected one near the center of the stack. She handed it to me, along with a Moleskine notebook. I accepted them gratefully and paid. Once I had paid she took the two book and put the bookstores famous stamp inside the cover. The book was Ernest Hemingway’s ‘A Moveable Feast’ And to this day It remains my favorite book. And as for the Moleskine Journals.. Let’s just say I’ve racked up quite the collection.

August 12th 2009

The prospect of moving to a new place, a new unknown environment is a tricky one. Some people react badly to it, others fly through the transition as if it were a test to which they knew all the answers. Personally I have no idea how I will react to this. I don’t believe I have fully grasped that I will be leaving my home of 18 years, never to return again as a resident. Just the other day I was thinking about my moving away, and it almost fully hit me. But seeing as I have almost two weeks left here in Orlando I deemed it too early to fully grasp the idea, and shrugged it off. The idea of keeping a Journal is interesting to me. I don’t fully understand why it attracts me. If journal’s are supposed to be secret, or a place in which you put your inner most thoughts, then what is the benefit? Is it to be used simply by those who have lost the means to remember things on their own without a written record of their thoughts? Personally I love the idea of secrets, but I find the application of keeping secrets to be one that is particularly difficult. This is because I would much rather share what I have to say to those around me. This Journal Entry for example, I would not be completely apposed to someone, for whom I had an affection for, reading this. As a matter of fact I would love it if someone would read this, as if reading it would somehow show my true colors, the side of me that I cannot exude on a daily basis to everyone. But to be perfectly frank I have no qualm with showing the world my true colors. It is very likely that this “Journal Entry” and other to follow will end up on my blog. That is, assuming they hold no private information I wouldn’t want everyone to hear, and assuming they would have no detrimental effect on those around me, or my relationship with people for whom I care deeply. The end result of this contemplation is that this entry into my computer Journal will end up to be an entry in by wordpress blog as well.

So dear reader. It is at this time that I bestow on you a great privilege. A glimpse into who I am, and who goes on my in my mind as I sit across the coffee table from you pretending to listen. As harsh as it sounds. But I only hope that in some way this entertains you, even if only momentarily.

The Plight of the Blogger, the Journal

It is in my opinion the eternal Plight of the web blogger, and in fact the plight of the writer, to wonder ‘who will read this? will anyone read this?’. It is only at the dawn of the computer age that this disease, if you will, became more wide spread with the invention of the Blog. I am not the first, nor will I be the last to wonder if the people who read this draw anything of use from it. But of course that is a funny thought because as the blogger, if you feel you have put nothing of worth into the blog it can be assumed that no one is getting anything worth while out of it. But once you have thought this threw you come upon the realization that it doesn’t matter if anyone is reading this, or if anyone is gaining anything from you shared experiance, or thoughts. All that matters is that you put what you believe and have to offer on the line so that other may enjoy if they so chose.

It is at this point that I state that from now on I will be publishing some of my journal entry’s to this blog. The following post will contain an entry I wrote today, August 12th 2009.

Enjoy

Memorial Jam Session

Shana

I was working on mixing the flash of my softbox with the natural and exremely harsh sunlight of Orlanod FL.

Ms. Crouter

Edwards Door

Our door nocker.