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Mum, Kate and I have just returned from a faaabulous David Mamet play called November featuring Nathan Lane who, thankfully, didn't play Nathan Lane. It was terribly funny and topical and cutting, and we all agreed on the walk home that it was one Grandpa Allan had to get himself to as soon as possible.
The three of us caught an early flight this morning, landing around 11, we suffered the hour and twenty minute taxi ride to the Hotel London where we dropped our bags and went out in search of a deli to grab a bite. Our big plan was Afternoon tea, so we only had to stave off hungar till 4 or so. Then we walked. I usually have a pretty decent sense of direction, notice landmarks, have enough of an internal compass to orient myself with where we are respective to where we began...I must have left this compass at home because I was totally turned around. Which doesn't make a whole lot of sense because New York is a pretty straight-forward grid, but I spent so much time people-watching or billboard gawking and navigating throught the people around me (who constantly bump into eachother and don't apologize...I got weird looks when I did) that by the time we got to Central Park the only thing I could remember was how far we were from the nearest establishment that boasted their "famous cheesecake". It was across the street. We strolled through the park briskly, we did some shopping in Esprit (I now own another pair of work pants), Kate and I gave eachother agreeing judgemental looks when we saw any woman with extremely high heels, animal fur, and massive sun glasses (or any combination thereof), and Mum fondled every colorful pashmina within a three mile radius of us.
Then we got to tea; we'd originally planned to go to the Pierre, where we'd gone with Michael when we were last here, however it turned out to be closed for rennovation for the next sixteen months, so we settled for the St. Regis. Delicate and very satisfying little tea sandwiches, decent scones that came with an array of jams and lemon curd and of course clotted cream of which we had to order more, and pasterie, each bite of which Kate and I disected with critical tongues. I love how often we both choose the same adjective to describe a flavor, orange zest as 'rounder' than grapefruit zest, or half-joking about how one would make a line graph of a flavor from the moment it hit your tongue till the moment it died. We fantasized about starting our own bakery, what we'd specialize in, how to keep out the riff-raff who only came in for coffee and muffins and had no explorative taste buds. Its funny to hear her talk about it, because it's something we joke about alot, and Kate's introduction of the subject is never serious and is often apologized for, but we end up discussing it in such detail and excitement that I can't help but feel it's something she'd really be happy doing but feels guilty about her educational investments and doesn't want to squander them without at first trying to land a job in academia. I think I could be happy running a bakery as long as I could do it in addition to conducting or singing...the thought doesn't satisfy me entirely- no thought really does- unless it includes the music somehow. I'm excited at the prospect of searching for a more solid job once I'm out of Tufts, poking around the Los Angeles Children's Choir, asking Anthony what his experience has been like, reading the job descriptions for any music job anywhere. It feels strange to say this, but I'm a little afraid to look for a teaching job; I don't really feel qualified to teach due to my entire lack of experience, and I also feel like a bit of a fake. As though I'm not a real musician, as though I don't know enough to actually teach beyond a certain level. I was sitting in a RAP session with the premier choir (BCC's highest level group, all high school students) and helping them with a worksheet one of the other TF's had assigned them, and realized that I was unable to answer their questions as easily as I should be. The worksheet had intervals notated on it, and you were simply asked to identify the interval, Perfect Fifth, Diminished 7th, Augmented 3rd, etc. And of course my response to each of those questions is to say "listen to it in your head - what does it sound like?" which is not so helpful to them because this group isn't particularly strong with their ear training. So they do it using theory, either counting half steps, or simply identifying how the note is spelled on the staff, for example E to A# (Augmented Fourth) and recognize if it was major, minor, augmented or diminished. Simple, right?. I realized as I was answering these questions that my method of doing it by ear alone wasn't always useful...because I was answering what it sounded like as opposed to how it was written. Doing it my way meant that it was often right, but not always. For example, the interval of D to F# and the interval of D to Gb (G flat) would sound the same, but because there are three steps from D to F when it's notated as such, and D to Gb is four steps, they are actually named as different intervals. This is because (and here's the wonder of the freekin' piano) F# and Gb are the same key...they're called enharmonic equivelants. Anyway, this is when I had actual proof that I wasn't completely equipt to teach. I've done myself a great disservice with relying upon my ears constantly. I often rationalized to myself that I didn't need to attend to the details of the theory because ultimately I could hear it correctly, which meant I could sing it correctly. However if someone asks me to speak about it as opposed to sing, I'm often slow, and sometimes wrong. So. I'm actually looking forward to reviewing some of my theory books (and the teaching books we sometimes use for lesson plans) just so I can feel more secure in my knowledge about the music itself, as opposed to relying solely on my knowledge as a musician.
Whew! That was exhausting to write. Sorry if it was confusing. The point is I have work to do, and I'm excited to do it. And even more excited to feel that I can back up my degree with something other than experience.

Tomorrow Mum and I are going to an 8am meeting, then she and I will meet Kate for yoga, then Dim Sum, then the Museum of Modern Art, then a musical called Spring Awakening. And now I'm going to crash. Because I'm wiped out.