A Violinist in the Metro

I don't own this... but it stopped me in my tracks.

A Violinist in the Metro.

A man sat at a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the violin; it was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated that thousands of people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.

Three minutes went by and a middle aged man noticed there was musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried up to meet his schedule. A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till and without stopping continued to walk. A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late for work.
The one who paid the most attention was a 3 year old boy. His mother tagged him along, hurried but the kid stopped to look at the violinist. Finally the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on.

In the 45 minutes the musician played, only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money but continued to walk their normal pace. He collected $32. When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

No one knew this but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the best musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written with a violin worth 3.5 million dollars.

Two days before his playing in the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at a theater in Boston and the seats average $100. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of an social experiment about perception, taste and priorities of people. The outlines were: in a commonplace environment at an inappropriate hour: Do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize the talent in an unexpected context?

One of the possible conclusions from this experience could be: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing?

Awesome. Go out and appreciate.

Percieved Reality?

Hello, Internet.

I'm seriously wondering if this blog has any audience whatsoever. It probably doesn't. I probably don't care either. I'm already having fun looking back at a few of these posts.

Anyways.....

Last night I saw the movie Inception. It really grabbed me, and I mean really. It got me thinking, as I often do, about the nature of perception and reality, and the fine line that is drawn between the two. I have always been very interested in studying altered states of the mind, dreams, and perception of reality. I have also had a few... unique experiences (which I won't get into specifics about in this blog) which have made this subject particularly interesting.

A question I often pose to myself is whether or not "reality" is constructed entirely by our perception. For example, if my sky is blue, your sky must also be blue. But, is our perception of the color blue actually quite different? To say that blue looks the same to me as it does to you would only be assuming that our perception of the world is the same. Perhaps each of us sees our own pallette of colors, so that we all may name the sky blue, but not necesarily see the same sky.



Could this be a reality in someone else's
percieved universe?



In altered states and in dreaming our minds are capable of constant, absolute creation. Which means that our brains are not limited by the boundraries set by normal life. But what if the world that we live in, or, better suited to this arguement, the world that I live in, is nothing more than a projection of our own perception? Is this life a "percieved reality"?

If we are to believe that our reality is 100% based on perception, what can we say about our own being?

Take for instance, a person on DMT. This compound is secreted when we dream, meaning that our dreams are, quite literally, a hallucinogenic experience or "trip". When a person is either naturally or artificially under the influence of this chemical, they are physically in one space, but their reality exists in another. The user is totally immersed in a "percieved reality" that is at once both made up of the user's abstract thought yet to them, perfectly real.
To accept the theory that our world is entirely made up of perception is to say that we ourselves actually exist in some alternate plane, where we are simply imagining our world. This may concide with some world religions whose dogmas are based on the notion of an alternate state of being and the existance of the soul as a seperate entity from the body.

Can perception be so strong that it can become the perciever's reality? Is there really any difference between the two?

These are only questions, and of course I am no one to answer them. What are your thoughts?

Well Hello There, Blog. Long Time No See.

Yes it’s been awhile. More than awhile. In fact, it’s been so awkwardly long that I know no one even reads this anymore. I guess I’m really just doing this for myself, I like looking back and laughing at all the ridiculous decisions I’ve made.

So it’s been a crazy summer and early fall, and while I won’t get into specifics, let’s just say I’ve experienced a few crazy binges and switches of employment. Life still has me living at home, but I’ve been dumped off in different social circles and employment, and many opportunities lie ahead.

So now, an update.

I lost my last job for some pretty unusual reasons, and my cousin took me in as a Server at a Mexican Grille in Malden for late august and September. The work was mundane and my coworkers were hit or miss: either awesome people with great attitudes or complete downers who sucked the life out of me.
I’ve learned a few things from working at the restaurant. Mostly everything I’ve learned, however, can be categorized under the heading, “Never work in food service again.”

I’m pretty sure that industry is a thing of the past for me.

I’ve more recently found stable employment in Andover at a small Inn… this place is pretty neat. It’s a small time hotel with an upscale feel and high end clientele. Mostly, I deal with people who have some sort of connection to the Phillips Academy, which, if you haven’t heard of it, is one of the oldest private boarding schools in the country.


There’s not much to say here about this job, it’s pretty par for the course as well as hospitality goes, I’m pretty sure at this point in my life any Front Desk position will be second nature to me, more so when the hotel only has a handful of rooms . I have a lot of downtime here, which is all at once awesome and yet a tad boring. I’d have to say it’s a lot easier to work here if I am run down and tired because the job runs at such a relaxed pace. This is handy since my shifts here usually begin at 7am… ugh. Frankly I haven’t really had to be up that early since high school, so that is the only challenge.



And now for the news.


I am working once again on a project with my good friend Camila, who has impeccable music taste and talent. We’ve worked together before, and it seems like we connect really well, both musically and in general.

This time around, we have a full-length album in the works. The album will be produced by a good friend of Camila’s and a new friend of mine, Cip of Split2nd Entertainment. I’m extremely excited about this project, and will probably be updating here about the details as the release gets closer. The album is mostly Keyboard based Progressive Rock with an Indie twist, with some experimental and electronic influences.


I’m really not able to say too much else about the project just yet, so keep your pants on. Not that you would have taken them off anyways.

 So that’s about it, I’ll be back on here in about a week.

In Which I Become a Vampire.

NO I'M NOT TURNING GOTH.

In fact I just bought a whole bunch of preppy suits from mens warehouse. A grey and a blue.

Rather this post bears witness to the beginning of my life as an overnight worker. I recently got a job at the Sheraton Boston Hotel.

The place is just downright gorgeous, and the job pays alot more than I'm used to. My coworkers are hillarious, and I'm having a grand old time.

Plus it's great to not be a bum again.

The only thing that has been difficult to adjust to has been the scheduling, which includes it's share of 11pm-7am shifts. These are difficult to adjust to, seeing as it throws off your sleep cycle like nobody's business. Coming home around 9:30am, going to sleep until 5, then getting up, having something to eat, and going to work to start the whole cycle over again.

This schedule sets my social life on a pecipice, but it's all right for now. I learned from working before that life is appreciated far more when isolated into small days off. This may seem depressing, but when you only have so much time off in a week, it makes you want to go out and seize it. Especially working graveyard shifts.

MOM! David's Blogging Again!!!

"Fortune rota volvitur: descendo minoratus; alter in altum tollitur; nimis exaltatus." Which means, in Latin, Fortune's wheel will turn and I descend. Another is lifted high, he is exalted. But the same poem goes on to say: "rex sedet in vertice, caveat ruinam! nam sub axe legimus Hecubam reginam." which also means, the other is lifted too high, let him fear ruin! for beneath the wheel is written Queen Hecubam.
Basically, you're sitting at the top and all of a sudden, someone comes over and knocks you on your ass.

Living with your parents after admitting to the ultimate failure that you couldn't have made it out on your own is probably one of the most demeaning experience that any person in their early 20s can endure.You used to invite a few friends over and have a nice evening with whomever you wanted. People would drop in to say hi. Now, you must prove your intent before leaving the house. "Who are you hanging out with?" "till when?" and "should I keep dinner on the stove?"

You used to come home late at night after work and cook something because you are hungry. Now, the parents want to go to bed at 9pm and if you DARE use the microwave you are disturbing their slumber.

All the while, the never ending job hunt looms ahead. You see, I had placed my prospective move out day to be May 1st. One of my good friends will be needing a roommate, and all seems to be in order. By this time I need to establish better credit, find a job and... well, long story short, reverse everything that living in the point did to my career.

The economy being what it is, so many people are out of work and competing for the same jobs I am applying for. Most of my competition for my skill level though, are older professionals with more experience, who didn't get FIRED from their last job.I was recently turned down by McDonalds. MCDONALDS! someone please tell me where else to turn when even McDonalds doesn't want you?

Ah well. Someone tell Queen Hecuba to spin that wheel again.

A Semi-Fond Farewell

So this is how it ends. My time on 35 Palmer Street comes to an abrupt halt, and I'm packing my things, and moving on.

It's not that I really want to leave. It's not that I want to live at home again. It's a change that may have been a long time coming... and obvious to some.

Don't get me wrong. I'm going to miss that apartment more than anything, and sure, it bothers me how quickly things change hands and get replaced, but I'm not here to dig for sympathy or make people wish it were different. I'm writing for myself, for closure, and for anyone who cares to listen.

Rewind to July 2009. I move in, and within weeks, everyone is getting along like we had all known each other for years. We were having some great times, making great memories. I thought I had found friends for life.

The months go by, and things deteriorated. Fast.

Enter January 2010, and the shift takes place. Suddenly, I lose my job and the person I had thought to be my life partner. Depressed and out of touch, I tried to search for solace in the people around me.

I then realized that the people I had met, for the most part, saw me as little more than a paycheck at the end of the month. Someone filling up a room. It got to the point that my personal property and space were violated on an almost daily basis. Things were broken, stolen, missing, or abused.

My room became a smoking zone, and I reduced myself to sleeping on the couch due to the stench and cold. I faced constant harassment about my financial situation. I was paying bills on time, but was treated like a homeless man sleeping on the couch. Mutual respect between me and certain people I lived with faded, and I began to realize that no one ever had my back, and everyone was ready to sell my spot to the highest bidder.

I was treated as though I did not have equal say in anything. I would kindly ask people not to do things and was laughed at. I couldn't win; I felt dejected.

Saturday, February 6th came around. Hanging out at a friend's house, I asked if he would mind if I slept on his couch instead of going home. I contemplated sleeping at my parents' house. Either way, I felt unwelcome in my own apartment. I felt as though I had no place to call home.

I eventually got back to the apartment, sick and wanting to go to bed, to find people blatantly disrespecting my property. A beer pong game was being played my mother's dining room table (which I always respectfully asked them to put a table cloth over, and there was no cloth this time), and when I asked someone to clean up their puke off the floor, I was told that they would take it up with my roommate, since "he lived there".

Something inside of me realized at that precise moment that no one ever saw me as an equal at 35 Palmer Street. I was not a roommate, a friend, or even a person worthy of being treated with decency. I was a monthly rent check for $60 more than everyone else, and for less respect.

And so I had to pack my bags. Sure I'm sad, who wouldn't be? I'll miss my time at 35 Palmer Street. I really don't think life will be the same for me ever again.

So I have to say goodbye. I wish things were different. I'm sorry they weren't. I'll miss all of you.

Life Updates! I'm Not Sober.

So I've pretty much been too lazy to post on this blog for a while but tonight, at 2:34 in the morning sipping on a margarita with snow falling outside, it seemed time for an update. An update that I will attempt to finish before the effects of the aforementioned margarita kicks in.

So last Wednesday, I was fired officially from my job. I really can't post about it here, the details of the termination, but lets just say i view it as a new lease on life. i'm looking at alot of new oppurtunities, all with much better pay then the job I held. Then again, I'm going to have to do some pretty crazy things to get money until then, but still.

The one thing standing in my way is the VERY end of the interview. You know, the part where you have to come out and say yes, I was fired. It's not an easy answer to wrap around employers' heads, and even if you have a fantastic interview, it's kind of like a bombshell at the end. Like a big let down. The whole time they're thinking "wow this kid is great!" and then OOPS he was actually fired. Never. Mind. And you KNOW for a fact that they aren't going to hire you when they say OH. Well. Thanks for um...your...honesty in that...

I also wanted to make a point. People say I'm not motivated anymore. well SHAME on you. I am broke and trying to live on my own without crying back home to mommy and daddy okay???? Okay. I wouldn't be going to job interviews if I wasn't motivated I would SELL MY BODY ON THE STREET CORNER OKAY. Because this is a good neighborhood for that. Except it's snowing, and that means that standing on street corners is not in the program.

Not in the program... my grandfather used to say that. He used to say that everything in life was "programmed" in life. For example, you eat a chicken dinner. You choke on a bone. You go to the emergency room to remove it. You may think "OH I shouldn't have eaten that so fast" but really it's already programmed into who you are. You were MEANT to choke on that chicken bone because you are a fast eater.

What. The. HELL am I talking about. So much for not writing this under the influence. I think I added too much Tequila. Did I mention I used a 1/4 of a bottle?