16. Fear and loathing in the big apple (part I)

Ladies and Gentlemen, devoted readers of the blog, welcome to the United States of America!
These upcoming two posts will deal with the two years I lived in New York, suffering my way through so you could sit comfortably and read this on your laptops.

The first time I came to the States was in a very bizarre coincidence. My grandmother, who ran away to New York when my mother was in her teens and had almost no contact with us, sent one day a letter, offering 4 tickets and inviting the four of us (my divorced parents, my sister and I) to her son's wedding in New York. As it was clearly an un-vitation (surely she didn't expect us to actually agree to come- also, it was sent only a month before the wedding), and all of us are very crazy individuals, we immediately decided to accept this one time offer. We went there separately- my father first, as he had some work to do in LA, my mother and sister some days later, and I came last, from Paris, where I had my summer vacation with my (then) girlfriend.

As I am not the only unorganized person in my family, I wasn't provided with any information, and I didn't know the address of the flat my family stayed at (because we all thought that since my mother will pick me up in the airport, I shouldn't know anything else). In the immigration form, under "address in the US", I wrote: "father's apartment..."- so naive I was back then.
The officer, seeing that stamped my form, and shouted at me- "You are not welcome in the United States of America!". Fortunately, a nice lady working there saw me, and provided me with a fake address, sending me to another officer (if it was only two months later, I would be sent back immediately or stay in prison). This wasn't the end of the story, as I apparently told my mother to be in the wrong airport. As I was waiting for 4 hours in the airport, with no way to be reached, and with no phone number to call to, I got to the mature conclusion that my family is dead, and I have to deal with that fact. With $100 in my wallet, I began to imagine the endless possibilities that are for me that week. "After all his family died, and with only $100 in his pockets, Daniel M. started his way in New York, and after only a month became rich and famous. The new rumors suggest he is going out with Scarlett Joh...", in that point of my fantasy my mother, hysterically shouting at me, came to pick me up.

All that week was immensely bizarre and funny, as to be expected when the four of us are reunited, and more than that, reunited abroad. We all lived in a nice flat not far away from the twin towers and the world trade center. As my sister wanted me to take a picture of us near the towers, I disagreed, telling her it is very stupidly touristic, and they are going to be there for many more years, so we can do it another time. It was, I remind you, July 2001...

Anyway, the next time I came to the States was after I had the feud with M., and I was looking to run away from the to the place that was as different as possible- Juilliard.

Apparently Juilliard was constructed by an architect who was formerly building state prisons (not a joke!), and it explains many things- as I cannot imagine a building that is more ugly or more depressing than that school. The ceilings were all very low, there were almost no windows around, and no places to sit and talk with friends. The practicing rooms looked like death-cells, with almost no air inside, and instead of a piano stood there was an ugly black box.
The pianos themselves looked as if they were suffering immensely, and it was the worst experience ever practicing at school.

As I didn't know at first where should I stay in New York, I was seriously considering to stay at the Juilliard dorms. Fortunately, there were no rooms available, or your humble servant would not be alive today. The dorms were the only place that was worse than the school itself. Situated in the same complex it was only a moment away from school (eww..), so there was no way you could miss a class. You had to share your tiny room with three more people, and was forced to eat three meals a day at the Juilliard Cafeteria. As the suicide rate was very high, the school decided to block the room windows, so no one could jump and sue the school for injuries.
Fortunately, I didn't have to pass all that, as I was living in another part of town, in an other student house- International House. As I have many many things to say about living there, it will have to wait for the next part of the post.

As for Juilliard, from the first moment I saw it was not a place for me. They completely discouraged any encounter with the different departments of the school (dance and drama), and the only things we got in our emails were invitations for a free ice cream socials in room 274. When I saw this place is clearly not for me, I decided to take the easiest courses that were offered in the masters degree. Here are some which I remember:


* Bach's Taxes- This is what I called that course, which was supposed to deal with Bach's music, but instead taught us how many gallons of beer Bach drank while composing (hint: a lot), and exactly how much did he earn for each piece he was composing. Welcome to America!

* Jazz History- A course taught by a tuba player, who claimed to have played with all the jazz legends. Although he was a nice, cool man, he had no idea how to teach a class. The only phrase he knew was, "You dig it? Yeah! You dig it?"

* Music and Technology- By far the easiest course I've ever taken in my life (if you knew how to turn on and off a computer, you could pass the class), taught by a very sexy Yugoslavian lesbian teacher, who never turned off her mobile phone- "Wait a second, it's my second girlfriend. Yes, beautiful? Yes, last night WAS great also for me... cannot wait for next time... Ok, class- where were we?"

* Contemporary Music- In this class we were supposed to play some contemporary chamber music, and discuss it afterwards with the class. Unfortunately, it rarely happened, because the teacher (a very ugly midget, spitting all over) could not stop talking himself, mainly about his group's upcoming concerts in Estonia and Lithuania, and the genius music he had found there.

* Piano Music- Again, another class in which students were supposed to play, but instead the psychotic teacher could not stop himself from talking, sharing with us his impotence problem, his views about contemporary boxers, and other relevant issues.

* Vienna in the beginning of the 20th century- Taught by the unforgettable Pia Gilbert, who was old enough to meet Schoenberg, Alma Mahler and their company, and I wouldn't be surprised if she knew Mozart and Haydn as well. Every second phrase of her started with Alma Mahler, usually using only her first name- "Oh, Alma was with EVERYBODY..."

* German Lieder- This was actually a fun class. Ten singers, all a caricature of classical singers and ten accompanists (I was the only "solo" pianist there), again, a caricature of themselves. It was as if I entered another world, or an episode of "Fame". The women hated each other, all men were gay, and it was just delightful to sit and watch all of that.
"Sharon, did you have a boob-job yesterday? You sound like you did... Shut up, Jessica, we all know how you got the audition in Houston last week..."

As I hated school, I came there less and less, and was spending most of my time in I.House. For some really crazy stories, my dinner with Natalie Portman, some useful tips and tricks for tourists, please wait for the next post. Until then, I bid you farewell.